IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL WEEK...

Mr. Woolfred at BX. Floats like a butterfly, stings like a--no he don't sting, he's a big ol' sweetie pants.
Those who but casually knew Owain and Andrea could never understand how such a skeptical and aloof couple could write so vividly and sympathetically on historical subjects. This seemingly improbable accomplishment appeared even more paradoxical when attained by two persons riveted to hard and demonstrable evidence, writing about a historical age that has been more romanticized than any other period. But to those privileged few who were permitted to know the real Owain and Andrea and to learn how they functioned, these contradictions transformed themselves into supporting buttresses. Belligerent opponents of romantic history and fine theories resting on insufficient evidence, these practical skeptics zestfully toppled such writing and pored over the available records to determine exactly what could be concluded about a historical institution or problem. When satisfied that they were working upon sound evidence and that all the facts had been assembled, they turned to the task of reconstruction. At this moment occurred the metamorphosis. With the enthusiasm and feeling of the artist and, yes, with the buoyancy of the boy with his kite on a fresh and early April morning, they built their facts into the articles and books that have stimulated the admiration and envy of all who can appreciate first-class historical thinking in a style that meets its high demands.
"The power of man has fallen. The period of mankind has passed away. A new world has arisen. The rule of Robots. The world belongs to the stronger. He who would live must rule. The Robots have gained the mastery. They have gained possession of life. We are masters of life. We are masters of the world. The rule over oceans and lands. The rule over stars. The rule over the universe. Room, room, more room for the Robots."---R.U.R.
'Into this Universe, and Why not knowing

Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,

I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing'---Omar K.