We always thought the living earth was a thing of beauty. It isn’t. Life has had to learn to defend itself against the planet’s random geological sav… - Arthur C. Clarke

There were, however, a few exceptions.
One was Norma Dodsworth, the poet, who had not unpleasantly drunk but had been sensible enough to pass out before any violent action proved necessary. He had been deposited, not very gently, on the lawn, where it was hoped that a hyena would give him a rude awakening. For all practical purposes he could, therefore, be regarded as absent.

If such a thing had happened once, it must surely have happened many times in this galaxy of a hundred billion suns.

Khedron was content with the order of things as it was. True, he might upset that order from time to time—but only by a little. He was a critic, not a revolutionary. On the placidly flowing river of time, he wished only to make a few ripples; he shrank from diverting its course.