Tomorrow lurks in us, the latency to be all that was not achieved before.
The journey is difficult, immense. We will travel as far as we can, but we cannot in one lifetime see all that we would like to see or to learn all that we hunger to know.
Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.
Many of us who walk to and fro upon our usual tasks are prisoners drawing mental maps of escape
Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.
Each one of us is a statistical impossibility around which hove a million other lives that were never destined to be born.
One practitioner of science is the educated man who still has a controlled sense of wonder before the universal mystery, whether it hides in a snail's eye or within the light that impinges on that delicate organ.
God knows how many things a man misses by becoming smug and assuming that matters will take their own course.
If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.
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.
From the solitude of the wood, Man has passed to the more dreadful solitude of the heart.
It was the failures who had always won, but by the time they won they had come to be called successes. This is the final paradox, which men call evolution.
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 frequently the tragedy of the great artist, as it is of the great scientist, that he frightens the ordinary man.
One does not meet oneself until one catches the reflection from an eye other than human.
Like the herd animals we are, we sniff warily at the strange one among us.
Man no longer dreams over a book in which a soft voice, a constant companion, observes, exhorts, or sighs with him through the pangs ofyouth and age. Today he is more likely to sit before a screen and dream the mass dream which comes from outside.
Choices, more choices than we like afterward to believe, are made far backward in the innocence of childhood.
The freedom to create is somehow linked with facility of access to those obscure regions below the conscious mind.
Some degree of withdrawal serves to nurture man's creative powers. The artist and the scientist bring out of the dark void, like the mysterious universe itself, the unique, the strange, the unexpected. Numerous observers have testified upon the loneliness of the process.
You think that way as you begin to get grayer and you see pretty plainly that the game is not going to end as you planned.
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 areperpetually within us.
Modern man lives increasingly in the future and neglects the present.
Mind is locked in matter like the spirit Ariel in a cloven pine. Like Ariel, men struggle to escape the drag of the matter they inhabit, yet it isthe spirit that they fear.