Then out spake brave Horatius, The captain of the gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers And the temples of his gods?"
So there he is at last. Man on the moon. The poor, magnificent bungler! He can't even get to the office without undergoing the agonies of the damned, but give him a little metal, a few chemicals, some wire and 20 or 30 billion dollars and, vroom! There he is, up on a rock, a quarter of a million miles up in the sky.