In the days of the frost seek an minor sun.

Tomorrow lurks in us, the latency to be all that was not achieved before.

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.

If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.

The creative element in the mind of man . . . emerges in as mysterious a fashion as those elementary particles which leap into momentary existence in great cyclotrons, only to vanish again like infinitesimal ghosts.

The future is neither ahead nor behind, on one side or another. Nor is it dark or light. It is contained within ourselves; its evil and good are perpetually within us.

The secret, if one may paraphrase a savage vocabulary, lies in the egg of night.