It Is Frequently The Tragedy Of The

A Man Who Has Once Looked With The Archaeological Eye Will Never See Quite Normally. He Will Be Wounded By What Other Men Call Trifles. It Is Possible To Refine The Sense Of Time Until An Old Shoe In The Bunch Grass Or A Pile Of Nineteenth Century Beer Bottles In An Abandoned Mining Town Tolls In One's Head Like A Hall Clock.

Modern Man Lives Increasingly In The Future And Neglects The Present.

The Iron Did Not Remember The Blood It Had Once Moved Within, The Phosphorous Had Forgot The Savage Brain.

Great Minds Have Always Seen It. That Is Why Man Has Survived His Journey This Long. When We Fail To Wish Any Longer To Be Otherwise Than What We Are, We Will Have Ceased To Evolve. Evolution Has To Be Lived Forward. I Say This As One Who Has Stood Above The Bones Of Much That Has Vanished, And At Midnight Has Examined His Own Face.

Man No Longer Dreams Over A Book In Which A Soft Voice, A Constant Companion, Observes, Exhorts, Or Sighs With Him Through The Pangs Of Youth And Age. Today He Is More Likely To Sit Before A Screen And Dream The Mass Dream Which Comes From Outside.