"And indeed, what is better than to sit by one's fireside in the evening with a book, while the wind beats against the window and the lamp is buring?"

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As we watch the sun go down, evening after evening, through the smog across the poisoned waters of our native earth, we must ask ourselves seriously whether we really wish some future universal historian on another planet to say about us: "With all their genius and with all their skill, they ran out of foresight and air and food and water and ideas," or, They went on playing politics until their world collapsed around them.

— U Thant