In me it provoked the opposite. True, as we scroll down the page the crushing aeons of time crash down onto that tiny human lifespan like so much amber petrifying a gnat and the yawning chasm of meaninglessness opens before us... But looking at it another way, I note that all of that understanding about those vast oceans of time, their categorisation, that we can even name and discuss events that happened so long ago the very atomic basis of our physical essence had yet to exist, is due to us, that tiny gnat. The vast, whirling machinery of the cosmos has spun out of the miasma atoms, and molecules, and curious long-chain proteins, and eventually us - we that can look back down ourselves and scare ourselves with our own insignificance; in itself, a not insignificant feat. It's a feeling which is principally anthropic, if you get my meaning, but I can't help but give us a pat on the back.