“... we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.”

“…we can not love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.”

“Defy the system by a gift to which it cannot respond except by its own death and its own collapse.”

“The 'what' of life is immediate, but the 'why' trails along at its own pace.”

“There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off.”

“No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.”