If There Is Magic On This Planet,

For The First Time In Four Billion Years A Living Creature Had Contemplated Himself And Heard With A Sudden, Unaccountable Loneliness, The Whisper Of The Wind In The Night Reeds.

The Great Artist, Whether He Be Musician, Painter, Or Poet, Is Known For This Absolute Unexpectedness.

The Creature Called Man Has A Strange History. He Is Not Of One Piece, Nor Was He Born Of A Single Moment In Time. His Elementary Substance Is Stardust Almost As Old As The Universe.

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.