The human landscape of the New World shows a conquest of nature by an intelligence that does not love it.

Between religion's this is and poetry's but suppose this is, there must always be some kind of tension, until the possible and the actual meet at infinity.

One doesn't bother to believe the credible: the credible is believed already, by definition. There's no adventure of the mind.

A snowflake is probably quite unconscious of forming a crystal, but what it does may be worth study even if we are willing to leave its inner mental processes alone.

The human landscape of the New World shows a conquest of nature by an intelligence that does not love it.

The tremendous efficiency and economy of the book has once again demonstrated itself. It's the world's most patient medium.

The simplest questions are the hardest to answer.