In the desert, an old monk had once advised a traveler, the voices of God and the Devil are scarcely distinguishable.

Each and all, we are riding into the dark. Even living, we cannot remember half the events of our own days.

If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.

It is surely one of the curious paradoxes of history that science which professionally has little to do with faith, owes its origins to an act of faith that the universe can be rationally interpreted, and that science today is sustained by that assumption.

From the solitude of the wood, (Man) has passed to the more dreadful solitude of the heart.

The great artist, whether he be musician, painter, or poet, is known for this absolute unexpectedness.

Without the gift of flowers and the infinite diversity of their fruits, man and bird, if they had continued to exist at all, would be today unrecognizable.