Things don’t have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function.
What’s the function of a galaxy? I don’t know if our life has a purpose and I don’t see that it matters.
What does matter is that we’re a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are.
What we do is like wind blowing on the grass.
— Ursula K Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven















