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Quote by Carl Sagan

“Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality. When we recognize our place in an immensity of light‐years and in the passage of ages, when we grasp the intricacy, beauty, and subtlety of life, then that soaring feeling, that sense of elation and humility combined, is surely spiritual. So are our emotions in the presence of great art or music or literature, or acts of exemplary selfless courage such as those of Mohandas Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr. The notion that science and spirituality are somehow mutually exclusive does a disservice to both.”

Quote by Carl Sagan

Book:The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark
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The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark

In this seminal work, the author delves into the principles of scientific inquiry, critical analysis, and evidence-based reasoning. The book serves as a guide to discerning fact from fiction, advocating for the importance of skepticism and rationality in understanding the natural world. more

Author

Carl Sagan
Carl Sagan

Carl Sagan was an American astronomer, cosmologist, author, and science communicator, born on November 9, 1934, in Brooklyn, New York. He is renowned for his profound research into the cosmos and his dedication to popularizing science. Sagan proposed numerous theories about the origin of the universe and life, and he made complex scientific knowledge accessible to the public with his unique perspective and clear, engaging writing style. more

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“Some people think the story of the world as a very specific author, who is very opinionated about everything that is going on, and some people think the author has better things to do than worry about such events, and others think the story of the world has several or even many authors who are all working together or fighting or both. And some people think there is no author, and indeed the miracles of the world can seem even more impressive if you look at a meadow or a baby or some butterscotch syrup and believe that it all came from nothing.”

World Creation
Book:Poison for Breakfast
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“Fritz.” The butler rushed over from the crudité arrangement he was working on. “Yes, master! I am eager to be of aid.” “Take this.” iAm peeled the cat off himself, prying both of its front claws out of his fleece. “And do whatever it is you do with it.” As he turned away, he felt like glancing back and making sure G*dd*mn was okay. But why the fuck would he do that? He had to get to Sal’s and check on his staff. Usually he hit the restaurant in the early afternoon, but shit had not been “usual,” what with that migraine: Every time his brother had one, they both got a headache. Now, though, with Trez rebounding and no doubt soon to be on the grind with that Chosen, it was time to get back on his own track. If only to keep himself from going psychotic. Jesus Christ, Trez was now going to fuck that female. And God only knew where that was going to land them all. Just as he hit the exit, he called out over his shoulder, “Fritz.” Through the din of First Meal prep, the doggen answered back, “Yes, master?” “I never find any seafood in this place. Why is that?” “The King does not favor any manner of fin.” “Would he allow it in here?” “Oh, yes, master. Just not upon his table, and certainly never upon his plate.” iAm stared at the panels of the door in front of him. “I want you to get some fresh salmon and poach it. Tonight.” “But of course. I will not have it ready afore First Meal for you—” “Not for me. I hate fish. It’s for G*dd*mn Cat. I want him served that regularly.” He pushed the door open. “And get him some fresh veggies. What kind of cat food does he eat?” “Only the best. Hill’s Science Diet.” “Find out what is in his food—and then I want everything hand-prepared. Nothing out of the bag for him from now on.” Approval bloomed in the old doggen’s voice: “I’m sure Master Boo will appreciate your special interest.” “I’m not interested in that bag of fur.” -iAm, Fritz, & Boo”

IamFritzBag Of FurMaster BooSpecial Attention
Book:The King
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“As iAm cracked the door to his brother’s room, the poor bastard’s suffering stained the very air, making it hard to breathe—and even see properly. Then again, everything was dark by design. “Trez?” The moaned answer was nothing good, a combination of wounded animal and sore throat from throwing up. iAm lifted his wrist into the light streaming in from behind and cursed at his Piaget. By this time, the SOB should have been solidly in recovery, his body digging itself out of the headache hole that had swallowed him. Not the case. “You want something for your stomach?” Mumble, mumble, groan, mumble? “Okay, I’m sure they’ve got some.” Mumble, moan, moan. Mutter, mutter. “Yeah, that, too. You want some Milanos?” Mmmmmmmmmoan. “Roger that.”

IamTrezGroan Mumble Moan
Book:The King
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