Looking up and out, how can we not respect this ever-vigilant cognizance that distinguishes us: the capability to envision, to dream, and to invent? the ability to ponder ourselves? and be aware of our existence on the outer arm of a spiral galaxy in an immeasurable ocean of stars? Cognizance is our crest.

Sex in space (Earth included) far exceeds our wildest imaginations, and is more than a big bang, that's for sure, it's cosmic.

Poetry is a subset of a Cosmos, which in itself, is a poem.

The stars are not the limit.

Fear plants the whisper to beware but doesn't look to see who's there.

Success makes enemies of those who would have never been true friends.

Ridicule has historically proven itself a rickety fence for great ideas.