I read about a man who'd been sentenced to die, saying or thinking, the hour before his death, that even if he had to live an ocean somewhere high up on a rock . . . with all around precipices, an ocean, an endless murk, endless solitude and endless storms — and had to stand there, on those two feet of space, all his life, for a thousand years, eternity — that it would be better to live like that than to die so very soon! If only he could live, live, and live! Never mind what that life was like! As long as he could live!
How strange and wonderful is our home, our earth, with its swirling vaporous atmosphere, its flowing and frozen liquids, its trembling plants, its creeping, crawling, climbing creatures, the croaking things with wings that hang on rocks and soar through the fog, the furry grass, the scaly seas.