A Publisher Who Writes Is Like A

Space-ships And Time Machines Are No Escape From The Human Condition. Let Othello Subject Desdemona To A Lie-detector Test; His Jealousy Will Still Blind Him To The Evidence. Let Oedipus Triumph Over Gravity; He Won't Triumph Over His Fate.

We Cannot Unthink Unless We Are Insane.

The Creativity And Pathology Of The Human Mind Are, After All, Two Sides Of The Same Medal Coined In The Evolutionary Mint. The First Is Responsible For The Splendour Of Our Cathedrals, The Second For The Gargoyles That Decorate Them To Remind Us That The World Is Full Of Monsters, Devils, And Succubi.

Einstein's Space Is No Closer To Reality Than Van Gogh's Sky . The Glory Of Science Is Not In A Truth More Absolute Than The Truth Of Bach Or Tolstoy, But In The Act Of Creation Itself. The Scientist's Discoveries Impose His Own Order On Chaos, As The Composer Or Painter Imposes His; An Order That Always Refers To Limited Aspects Of Reality, And Is Based On The Observer's Frame Of Reference, Which Differs From Period To Period As A Rembrant Nude Differs From A Nude By Manet.

It Is Impossible To Decide Whether A Particular Detail Of The Pythagorean Universe Was The Work Of The Master, Or Filled In By A Pupil A Remark Which Equally Applies To Leonardo Or Michelangelo . But There Can Be No Doubt That The Basic Features Were Conceived By A Single Mind; That Pythagoras Of Samos Was Both The Founder Of A New Religious Philosophy, And The Founder Of Science, As The Word Is Understood Today.