He was still and gazed deeply into the infinite pool that bears stars into being. Above him was a tiny smudge of light that was the closest galaxy. It was spinning, spinning, but so far away that one could look for a whole lifetime and not see it alter. The galaxies out there whirled into each other like discs, blinding into space without colliding--passing through each other at thousands of miles per second, yet they did not appear to move.
Suddenly he understood: Time is an illusion of the mind. Only love remains.
A tourist spending the night in a small New England Town joined a group sitting on the porch of the general store. After several vain attempts to start a conversation asked, "Is there a law against talking in this town."
"No law against it," said one old timer. We just like to make sure it's an improvement on silence."