There is going to be an energy crisis, obviously. The supply of oil is finite, and the whole notion that the essence of the good life resides precisely in its abundance and in a casually spendthrift approach to everything, is going to have to be revalued. There’s no question about that.
“Dwell, awful Silence, on the shady hills
Among the bleating flocks, and purling rills,
When Pan the reed doth to his lips apply,
Inspiring it with sacred harmony.
Hydriads, and Hamadryads at that sound
In a well order’d measure beat the ground.”
Thomas Stanley | “Pan Piping,” after the Greek of Plato