Ariadne lay back on the weathered wood of the pier. The book rested on her chest, rising and falling with her breath.
Her grandfather had circled that sentence, too. Weeks later, Ariadne stood on the same pier at dawn. She had not returned the book to the attic. Instead, she brought it with her everywhere—not to worship, but to remember. Cosmos - Carl Sagan
And the stars—those ancient, patient, star-stuff furnaces—did not answer. But they did not need to. The answer was already in her blood, her breath, her bones. Ariadne lay back on the weathered wood of the pier
“We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean,” Sagan wrote. “We are ready at last to set sail for the stars.” Weeks later, Ariadne stood on the same pier at dawn
She sat down on a crate and began to read. That night, Ariadne carried the book to the pier where her grandfather had once taught her to tie knots and tell time by the stars. She read aloud to the lapping water:
“For small creatures such as we,” Sagan had written, “the vastness is bearable only through love.”