The sky which had started out with such verve and spirit in the morning was beginning to lose its concentration and slip back into its normal English condition, that of a damp and rancid dish cloth.

The bigger you are, the smaller your world becomes.

The faster we travel, the less there is to see.

How fragile we are under the sheltering sky. Behind the sheltering sky is a vast dark universe, and we're just so small.

The stars were going out now, one by one, dropping like pennies behind the television aerials and the skylights and the washing strung between the chimneys. The sky was still dark - a sated, navy-blue woman - but the grass was jittery with the expectation of dawn.

The golden years become lower-middle-class life revisited. That's a bittersweet ending.

And that day the cultural god of science had shone a bit less brightly, had died a little in the people's minds.

Space — as landscape, terrain, spectacle, experience — has vanished.

Lost, so small amid that dark, hands grown cold, body image fading down corridors of television sky.

Los echa el cielo, porque menos bello no sea, y el infierno los rechaza, pues podrían dar gloria a los caídos.» 42 Y

The more stitches, the less riches.

What was bright and exciting becomes weary, flat, and unprofitable.

The evening, lacking intelligent relations, crumbles down into the haze of the horizon.)

"I trembled to think of a world without stars. No guide for the sailor to trust at see, no jewels to dazzle our sense of beauty [...] But all around the globe, the air is so dirty and the lights from the cities are so bright that for some people few stars can be seen anymore. A generation of children may grow up seeing a blank sky and asking, "Did there used to be stars there?