What did a great man such as Alexander see when he looked upon a starlit night? Did he wonder at teh smallness of man, our mortality and our suspectability to corruption of the heart and mind?

Or did he perhaps contemplate his next endeavour, weighing up the value of lives and the price of success.

When I look at the stars I see beauty and marvel at my own shallow and seemingly meaningless worries. Then I remember that they are not meaningless to me. Not everything has to be profound.

My friend Brad says that when we look at the stars we are looking at the past, an image which is hundreds of thousands of years old. Isn't it ironic that its the future which occupies our minds when we gaze at these distant orbs.

People have dreamed for years of something more and perhaps it is out there, in those stars, in some other world. Unlikely of course, and as research reveals, highly illogical to believe that we will find out if there is any truth behind these hopes - at least in our lifetime. Yet who are we to criticise dreams?

Our dreams are what give us our humanity and without them we would have no reason to hope. To strive to succeed.

Where would we be without a vision? There would be no great and mysterious Sphinx, no cure for small pox, no proof of Jupiter and her moons, no quest for love and happiness.

No. We are a race which thrives on our desire to do good, to succeed not only in that base instinct of survival, but in our constant quest for
perfection, a peace of mind which alludes us. A meaning behind it all.

A quest for a dream.