“Let us try to teach generosity and altruism, because we are born selfish. Let us understand what our own selfish genes are up to, because we may then at least have the chance to upset their designs, something that no other species has ever aspired to do.”

The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.

The solution often turns out more beautiful than the puzzle.

It is a deep aesthetic passion to rank with the finest that music and poetry can deliver.

Matter flows from place to place, and momentarily comes together to be you. Some people find that thought disturbing; I find the reality thrilling.

In the beginning was simplicity.

There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point.

There’s real poetry in the real world. Science is the poetry of reality.

Evolution is just a theory? Well, so is gravity and I don’t see you jumping out of buildings.

The feeling of awed wonder that science can give us is one of the highest experiences of which the human psyche is capable.

Religion is about turning untested belief into unshakable truth through the power of institutions and the passage of time.

Scientific beliefs are supported by evidence, and they get results. Myths and faiths are not and do not.

Today the theory of evolution is about as much open to doubt as the theory that the earth goes round the sun.

Real life seeks the gentle slopes at the back of Mount Improbable, while creationists are blind to all but the daunting precipice at the front.

Do not indoctrinate your children. Teach them how to think for themselves, how to evaluate evidence, and how to disagree with you.

Science is the poetry of reality.

Science is the poetry of reality.

As socialists, we are opponents of the Jews, because we see in the Hebrews the incarnation of capitalism, of the misuse of the nation’s goods.

From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.

Many people die of thirst but the Irish are born with one.

I gave up before birth.

Deep in the heart of the infinite darkness, a tiny blue marble is spinning through space. Born in the splendor of God’s holy vision, and sliding away like a tear down his face.

Birth was the death of him.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

I’m from Dagestan, I’m born in Dagestan, and Dagestan is a different level for people living a tough life, people living in the mountains.