When all the facts fall short of believability, fantasy feels reassuringly solid.
When a planet wants you dead, you die.
To be alive is to know ghosts. We hear their whispers if we listen.
It takes more power to build than to burn.
History isn’t fact. It’s narrative, one carefully curated and shaped. Under the pen strokes of the right scribe, a villain becomes a hero, a lie becomes the truth.
As we begin preserving the most essential pieces of civilization, deciding what is remembered, what is forgotten, how will we know what those things are if we can’t even agree on how to count them?
To understand our future, we have to remember the past and the ones who caused it all.
The weight of traditions protects us. There can be comfort in making a journey others have made before.
The fate of one individual will always remain a mystery.
Pay attention to the patterns and we can presage what comes next.
Math is never just numbers. When words fail us, we use math to describe the inexpressible. The things that terrify us most. The vastness of space, the shape of time, the weight and worth of a human soul.
Math doesn’t take sides. It doesn’t judge.
