The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.
This world is given as the prize for the men in earnest; and that which is true of this world, is truer still of the world to come.
That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.
As a scientist, I am not sure anymore that life can be reduced to a class struggle, to dialectical materialism, or any set of formulas. Life is spontaneous and it is unpredictable, it is magical. I think that we have struggled so hard with the tangible that we have forgotten the intangible.
Posterity is as likely to be wrong as anyone else.
The next time a car appeared down Market Street, I stepped right out into the road, waving my arms over my head, shouting.
I'm struck by the insidious, computer-driven tendency to take things out of the domain of muscular activity and put them into the domain of mental activity. The transfer is not paying off. Sure, muscles are unreliable, but they represent several million years of accumulated finesse.