By the time I'd grown up, I naturally supposed that I'd be grown up.
Creative work is play. It is free speculation using materials of one's chosen form.
Genius is one per cent inspiration, ninety-nine per cent perspiration.
He who laughs, lasts!
The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ...'
To do anything truly worth doing, I must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in with gusto and scramble through as well as I can.
Is love supposed to last throughout all time, or is it like trains changing at random stops. If I loved her, how could I leave her? If I felt that way then, how come I don't feel anything now?