In The Days Of The Frost Seek

When The Human Mind Exists In The Light Of Reason And No More Than Reason, We May Say With Absolute Certainty That Man And All That Made Him Will Be In That Instant Gone.

It Is A Funny Thing What The Brain Will Do With Memories And How It Will Treasure Them And Finally Bring Them Into Odd Juxtapositions With Other Things, As Though It Wanted To Make A Design, Or Get Some Meaning Out Of Them, Whether You Want It Or Not, Or Even See It.

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.

The Secret, If One May Paraphrase A Savage Vocabulary, Lies In The Egg Of Night.

Lights Come And Go In The Night Sky. Men, Troubled At Last By The Things They Build, May Toss In Their Sleep And Dream Bad Dreams, Or Lie Awake While The Meteors Whisper Greenly Overhead. But Nowhere In All Space Or On A Thousand Worlds Will There Be Men To Share Our Loneliness.