High up in the North in the land called Svithjod, there stands a rock. It is a hundred miles high and a hundred miles wide. Once every thousand years a little bird comes to this rock to sharpen its beak.
When the rock has thus been worn away, then a single day of eternity will have gone by.
THE SETTING OF THE STAGE
We live under the shadow of a gigantic question mark.
Who are we?
Where do we come from?
Whither are we bound?