And eventually even the brain might go. As the seat of consciousness, it was not essential; the development of electronic intelligence had proved tha… - Arthur C. Clarke

Here and there, set into the somber red, were rivers of bright yellow — incandescent Amazons, meandering for thousands of miles before they lost themselves in the deserts of this dying sun. Dying? No — that was a wholly false impression, born of human experience and the emotions aroused by the hues of sunset, or the glow of fading embers. This was a star that had left behind the fiery extravagances of its youth, had raced through the violets and blues and greens of the spectrum in a few fleeting billions of years, and now had settled down to a peaceful maturity of unimaginable length. All that had gone before was not a thousandth of what was yet to come; the story of this star had barely begun.

Alvin was an explorer, and all explorers are seeking something they have lost. It is seldom that they find it, and more seldom still that the attainment brings them greater happiness than the quest.

You won’t be an artist if you live a thousand years. You’re merely an expert, and you know it. Those who can—do, those who can’t—criticise.