It is frequently the tragedy of the great artist, as it is of the great scientist, that he frightens the ordinary man.
Like the herd animals we are, we sniff warily at the strange one among us.
One could not pluck a flower without troubling a star.
Tomorrow lurks in us, the latency to be all that was not achieved before.
Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.
Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.
