Aimer, Ce N'est Point Nous Regarder L'un

A Civilization Is A Heritage Of Beliefs, Customs, And Knowledge Slowly Accumulated In The Course Of Centuries, Elements Difficult At Times To Justify By Logic, But Justifying Themselves As Paths When They Lead Somewhere, Since They Open Up For Man His Inner Distance.

When I Opened My Eyes I Saw Nothing But The Pool Of Nocturnal Sky, For I Was Lying On My Back With Out-stretched Arms, Face To Face With That Hatchery Of Stars. Only Half Awake, Still Unaware That Those Depths Were Sky, Having No Roof Between Those Depths And Me, No Branches To Screen Them, No Root To Cling To, I Was Seized With Vertigo And Felt Myself As If Flung Forth And Plunging Downward Like A Diver.

Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of Incoherence, Of Boredom, And Above All Futility.

We Are All Youthful Barbarians, And Only Our New Toys Bring Us Excitement. That Has Been The Sole Purpose Of Our Flights. This One Flies Higher, That One Faster. But Now We Will Make Ourselves At Home. We Will Forget The Machine, The Tool. It Is No Longer Complex; It Does What It Is Supposed To Do, Unnoticed. And Through This Tool We Will Find Again The Old Nature, The Nature Of The Gardener, The Navigator, The Poet.

Life Always Bursts The Boundaries Of Formulas. Defeat May Prove To Have Been The Only Path To Resurrection, Despite Its Ugliness. I Take It For Granted That To Create A Tree I Condemn A Seed To Rot. If The First Act Of Resistance Comes Too Late It Is Doomed To Defeat. But It Is, Nevertheless, The Awakening Of Resistance. Life May Grow From It As From A Seed.