As with subsequent flights, Apollo 8 bowled along sideways, like a silver rolling pin, spinning slowly to distribute the sun’s intense heat. From the craft’s angle of approach the Moon was in darkness, so for the first two days the astronauts saw only the Earth shrinking behind them and a coy black void ahead, bereft of stars and growing, until finally they were drifting engine-first around the far side, preparing for the ‘burn’ that would slow them into lunar orbit. Still they saw nothing — until suddenly and without warning an immense arc of sun-drenched lunar surface appeared in their windows and the three men got the shocks of their lives, as the ethereal disc they and the rest of humanity had known up to then revealed itself as an awesome globe, cool and remote, without sound or motion, magisterial but issuing no invitation whatsoever. So shocked were the crew that Commander Borman was forced to rein in their excitement for the sake of the burn, and while the astronauts have forgotten much about the journeys they took, none has any trouble recalling this dramatic moment: indeed, those who are temperamentally disposed to acknowledging fear will tell you that it was an eerie and intimidating sight, which the crew of Apollo 8 seemed haunted by. Upon their return, they described a forbidding and inhospitable world. It was the Earth that sang to them from afar.
Andrew Smith, Moondust: In Search of the Men Who Fell to Earth
Even as the planets reveal themselves to scientific investigation, and repeat themselves across the universe, they retain the emotional weight of their long influence on our lives, and all that they have ever signified in Earth’s skies. Gods of old, and demons, too, they were once — they still are — the sources of an inspiring light, the wanderers of night, the far horizon of the landscape of home.
Dava Sobel, The Planets (2005)
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The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on light and space.
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[Buster] Keaton is never so great as when he manages to organise (to seize simply) the countryside into his overall design, giving, in a flashing surge of beauty, his personal vibration to the secret modulation of its lines, to its concrete harmony…
Jean-Patrick Lebel, Buster Keaton, English edition 1967
Keaton is probably the only comic who, apart from the classic race-chase, really knows how to use space, to give wind to the gag, to burst the bonds of the ‘inside gag’ by blowing a great wind into it, filling it with countryside and endless vistas, finally organising the universe into an immense gag in itself.
Philippe Demun, “Espace Vital”, in Contre-Champ, no. 3, May 1962, review of Steamboat Bill Jr. and Battling Butler