I Am What I Am

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.

Subconsciously The Genius Is Feared As An Image Breaker; Frequently He Does Not Accept The Opinions Of The Mass, Or Man's Opinion Of Himself.

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.

I Once Saw, On A Flower Pot In My Own Living Room, The Efforts Of A Field Mouse To Build A Remembered Field. I Have Lived To See This Episode Repeated In A Thousand Guises, And Since I Have Spent A Large Portion Of My Life In The Shade Of A Nonexistent Tree I Think I Am Entitled To Speak For The Field Mouse.

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.