Quotes About Cosmos

A man is an island in the only sense that matters, not an easy way to be. We live in mystery, a cosmos of separate lonely bodies, men, insects, stars. It is all loneliness and men know it best.

Is a man what he seems to the astronomer, a tiny lump of impure carbon and water crawling impotently on a small and unimportant planet? Or is he what he appears to Hamlet? Is he perhaps both as once?

(Man,) the glory and the scandal of the universe.

Man is the matter of the cosmos, contemplating itself.

Man makes a great fuss about this planet which is only a ballbearing in the hub of the universe.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

For in the end, the irreality function functions as well in the face of man as in the face of the cosmos. What would we know of others if we did not imagine things?

What faith in man must in our new world beat, Thinking how once he saw before his face The west and all the host of stars retreat Into the silent infinite of space!

The man who doesn't know what the universe is doesn't know where he lives.

But, when tales of the cosmos are told, this period of ours may always be recalled as that in which men first came to realise what a violent universe we inhabit.

The body is extremely important to me, because it is a planet. For instance, if you compare Earth and an astronomer, you will see that the man is a planet.

But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and vulgar things.

Isn't man but a blossom taken by wind, and only the mountains and the sea and the stars and this land of the gods everlasting?

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

If I were a gambling man I would put all my money on there not being anything other than this universe.

When you send out a powerful thought into the universe, you send out ripples to all parts of it which come back to you, reflecting what it is you sent out.

I love the smell of the universe in the morning.

Yes, the first morning of creation wrote what the last dawn of reckoning shall read.

I believe our future depends powerfully on how well we understand this cosmos in which we float, like a mote of dust in the morning sky.

Of course there is nothing the matter with the stars It is my emptiness among them While they drift farther away in the invisible morning

The sun is but a morning star.

We are just a speck, on a speck, orbiting a speck, in the corner of a speck, in the middle of nowhere.

Music is the voice of God traveling through ten-dimensional hyperspace.

Man's music is seen as a means of restoring the soul, as well as confused and discordant bodily afflictions, to the harmonic proportions that it shares with the world soul of the cosmos.