The poor old earth which has mothered us and nursed us we treat with scant respect. Our awe and veneration we reserve for the worlds we know not of. Our senses sell us out. The mud on our shoes disenchants us.
I am in love with this world. It has been my home. It has been my point of outlook into the universe. I have never bruised myself against it nor tried to use it ignobly.
He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter.
Man is, and always has been, a maker of gods. It has been the most serious and significant occupation of his sojourn in the world.
The longer I live, the more my mind dwells upon the beauty and the wonder of the world.