“But there is nothing in biology yet found that indicates the inevitability of death.”

Philosophers say a great deal about what is absolutely necessary for science, and it is always, so far as one can see, rather naive, and probably wrong.

Nature uses only the longest threads to weave her patterns, so each small piece of her fabric reveals the organization of the entire tapestry.

Why nature is mathematical is, again, a mystery.

I think nature’s imagination Is so much greater than man’s, she’s never going to let us relax

I don’t know what’s the matter with people: they don’t learn by understanding; they learn by some other way—by rote, or something. Their knowledge is so fragile!

We are lucky to live in an age in which we are still making discoveries.

Everything is interesting if you go into it deeply enough

I don’t know what’s the matter with people: they don’t learn by understanding, they learn by some other way — by rote or something. Their knowledge is so fragile.

Physicists like to think that all you have to do is say, these are the conditions, now what happens next?

I love to think. I once considered taking drugs as an attempt to better understand an altered state of mind; however, I decided not to. I didn’t want to chance ruining the machine.

Religion is a culture of faith; science is a culture of doubt.

I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.

Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that’s not why we do it.

You have to have absolute confidence. Keep right on going, and nothing will happen.

Never confuse education with intelligence, you can have a PhD and still be an idiot.

I have to keep going to find out ultimately what is the matter with it in the end.

Death left its old tragic heaven and became the lyrical core of man: his invisible truth, his visible secret.

Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.

Animals hear about death for the first time when they die.

If your eyes could speak what stories would it tell? Would it even be able to speak or would it end up choking on all the water?

The eighth deathly sin; a being comfortably lowering their standards for a person who isn’t worthy or good enough to be with someone like them.

In the veins of poets flows ink, with which they create words for eternity. When they die a part of their souls will still stay alive in their poetry.

I hate that time flies away too soon. I hate that dreams die faster when I don’t have you.

She had a precious light in her heart, that kept him alive in the moments he desired death, she was his savior.