Science may eventually explain the world of How. The ultimate world of Why may remain for contemplation, philosophy, religion.
Modern science, then, so far from being an enemy of romance, is seen on every hand to be its sympathetic and resourceful friend, its swift and irresistible helper in its serious need, and an indulgent minister to its lighter fancies.
I think that one possible definition of our modern culture is that it is one in which nine-tenths of our intellectuals can't read any poetry.

