There is a single star to which I, and all those like me, aspire. It is a distant and beautiful star, glistening like a pearl amidst the dull and familiar constellation. Only we whose senses are different can make such a distinction. And upon this, we are drawn with astronomical force towards its enchanting glimmer. Thus, we each endeavor, quietly and secretly, to build a machine that shall one day fly us there.
Yet the star lies at so great a distance that it is hardly unlikely for some to lose hope. Beauty can never lie too close; be too easily captured. And so they, whose hearts lack the courage to face potential defeat, will relent very quickly: “there is no point in attempting to reach something unreachable.” Perhaps they are wise, in that they dare cast away impractical pursuits, or perhaps they have given up too easily, thus depriving themselves of any chance at all of reaching the star.
Next comes the problem of competitors. Some look about them and see the many monstrous machines that others have at their command. They are brimming with power; so certain to reach the star. Then they look at their own and see something infinitely inferior, something lackluster. And had the star a gaze of light, it would surely turn it away from them. Or should they come near it by immense effort, the star shall drift still farther to avoid them. “Oh nacreous star, oh foolish self, thy ought to have known better,” these diffident men shall lament.