Each One Of Us Is A Statistical

The Future Is Neither Ahead Nor Behind, On One Side Or Another. Nor Is It Dark Or Light. It Is Contained Within Ourselves; Its Evil And Good Are Perpetually Within Us.

Life, Unlike The Inanimate, Will Take The Long Way Round To Circumvent Barrenness. A Kind Of Desperate Will Resides Even In A Root.

We Are One Of Many Appearances Of The Thing Called Life; We Are Not Its Perfect Image, For It Has No Perfect Image Except Life, And Life Is Multitudinous And Emergent In The Stream Of Time.

Once In A Lifetime, Perhaps, One Escapes The Actual Confines Of The Flesh. Once In A Lifetime, If One Is Lucky, One So Merges With Sunlight And Air And Running Water That Whole Eons, The Eons That Mountains And Deserts Know, Might Pass In A Single Afternoon Without Discomfort.

The Need Is Not Really For More Brains, The Need Is Now For A Gentler, A More Tolerant People Than Those Who Won For Us Against The Ice, The Tiger And The Bear. The Hand That Hefted The Ax, Out Of Some Old Blind Allegiance To The Past Fondles The Machine Gun As Lovingly. It Is A Habit Man Will Have To Break To Survive, But The Roots Go Very Deep.