At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.

Man, alone, has the power to transform his thoughts into physical reality; man, alone, can dream and make his dreams come true.

Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.

The math is dead simple: it seems that the frequency of planets able to support life is roughly one percent. In other words, a billion or more such worlds exist in our galaxy alone. That's a lot of acreage, and it takes industrial-strength credulity to believe it's all bleakly barren.

Those who occupy their minds with small matters, generally become incapable of greatness.