“Every advance in knowledge brings us face to face with the mystery of our own being.”

No burden is so heavy for a man to bear as a succession of happy days.

In all my research I have never come across matter. To me the term matter implies a bundle of energy which is given form by an intelligent spirit.

All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force… We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.

We have no right to assume that any physical laws exist, or if they have existed up until now, that they will continue to exist in a similar manner in the future.

It is impossible to make a clear cut between science, religion, and art. The whole is never equal simply to the sum of its various parts.

The quantum hypothesis will eventually find its exact expression in certain equations which will be a more exact formulation of the law of causality.

It was not by accident that the greatest thinkers of all ages were deeply religious souls.

There can never be any real opposition between religion and science; for the one is the complement of the other.

Science cannot solve the ultimate mystery of nature. And that is because, in the last analysis, we ourselves are a part of the mystery that we are trying to solve.

A scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it.

There is no matter as such—mind is the matrix of all matter.

I regard consciousness as fundamental. I regard matter as a derivative of consciousness.

The pioneer scientist must have “a vivid intuitive imagination, for new ideas are not generated by deduction, but by artistically creative imagination.”

Science advances funeral by funeral.

An experiment is a question which science poses to Nature and a measurement is the recording of Nature’s answer.

The entire world we apprehend through our senses is no more than a tiny fragment in the vastness of Nature.

I’m bad for your health, like puttin’ a pistol up to your face and blastin’ yourself.

What gives me the most hope every day is God’s grace; knowing that his grace is going to give me the strength for whatever I face, knowing that nothing is a surprise to God.

In the tumult of great events, solitude was what I hoped for. Now it is what I love. How is it possible to be contented with anything else when one has come face to face with history?

Faced with crisis, the man of character falls back on himself. He imposes his own stamp of action, takes responsibility for it, makes it his own.

I finally faced the fact that it isn’t a crime not having friends. Being alone means you have fewer problems.

The face of the night will be an old wound that reopens each evening, impassive and living. The distant silence will ache like a soul, mute, in the dark. We’ll speak to the night as it’s whispering softly.

There’s nothing wrong with a thick eyebrow; Frida Kahlo had them.

I haven’t wept for days, only shuffling feet, carrying weights, ignoring the pain, numbing the face. Its all a charade.