You are frightened of everything. You call it caution. You call it common sense. You call it practicality. You call it playing the odds, but that's only because you're afraid to call it by its real name, and its real name is fear.
There can be no exit from manifest destiny.
We think literature is immortal, but even that decays and ultimately turns to dust.
Truth and myth can be impossibly deviate, but frequently still have a common starting point.
The only consistent purpose of human religion was as a cover for the most bestial excesses of mass homicide, torment, and atrocity.
Every invention eventually becomes obsolete.