From the solitude of the wood, [Man] has passed to the more dreadful solitude of the heart.

I am not nearly so interested in what monkey man was derived from as I am in what kind of monkey he is to become.

I am not nearly so interested in what monkey man was derived from as I am in what kind
of monkey he is to become.

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.

Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.

God knows how many things a man misses by becoming smug and assuming that matters will take their own course.