Mike Curry, Metamorphosis (1953)
“ Always when the slow night of Asmarad began to fall, Brey felt anew the soul-wrenching loneliness. This was a twilight made for the old pleasures that over the centuries had never changed. For gathering by the campfire and singing the old songs, for the spice of well-cooked meat, for whispers in the dark and strolls through the forest, for a woman's lips on yours. And back on Earth, under the shadows of the spaceships ready to hurtle the light-years across the galaxy, there was laughter on the lips of man, and their hearts held room for love. ”
