Only The Unknown Frightens Men. But Once

So The Crew Fly On With No Thought That They Are In Motion. Like Night Over The Sea, They Are Very Far From The Earth, From Towns, From Trees. The Clock Ticks On. The Dials, The Radio Lamps, The Various Hands And Needles Go Though Their Invisible Alchemy. . . . And When The Hour Is At Hand The Pilot May Glue His Forehead To The Window With Perfect Assurance. Out Of Oblivion The Gold Has Been Smelted: There It Gleams In The Lights Of The Airport.

Truths May Clash Without Contradicting Each Other.

If You Love A Flower That Lives On A Star, It Is Sweet To Look At The Sky At Night. All The Stars Are A-bloom With Flowers.

For, To Conceited Men, All Other Men Are Admirers.

Man's Progress Is But A Gradual Discovery That His Questions Have No Meaning.