'But the universe to the eye of the human understanding is framed like a labyrinth, presenting as it does on every side so many ambiguities of way, such deceitful resemblances of objects and signs, natures so irregular in their lines and so knotted and entangled…' "For hit is shapen as the mase is wroghte – Thereto have I a remedie in my thought, That, by a clewe of twine, as he hath goon, The same way he may returne anoon, Folwing always the thread, as he hath come."
La mélancolie n’est pas un état de gravité rigoureuse, issue d’une affection organique, car elle n’a rien de la terrible sensation d’irréparable qui couvre l’existence toute entière et qu’on retrouve dans certains cas de tristesse profonde. La mélancolie, même la plus noire, est plutôt une humeur temporaire qu’un état constitutif ; celle-ci n’exclut jamais totalement la rêverie, et ne permet donc pas d’assimiler la mélancolie à une maladie. Au bout de toute mélancolie, se lève la possibilité d’une consolation ou d’une résignation. (Sur les cimes du désespoir)
'It is essentialwe do a more rigorous examination of the cause and effect of our observations, and understand that science is a long-term endeavour with many variables. Just because something is thought to be true one day does not permit it eternal validity. While Neuroscience has a bright and important future, we need to embrace our potential to make mistakes. Just as people used to believe the sun revolved around the earth, our own beliefs could be laughable to future generations. In the long run, skepticism is paramount for progress to flourish.'
"`First, the fish must be caught.' That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it. `Next, the fish must be bought.' That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it.
`Now cook me the fish!' That is easy, and will not take more than a minute. `Let it lie in a dish!' That is easy, because it already is in it.
The lower windows of the great white house, which stood high and square, opened to a wide flagged terrace, the parapet of which, an old balustrade of stone, was broken in the middle of its course by a flight of stone steps that descended to a wonderful garden. The terrace had the afternoon shade and fairly hung over the prospect that dropped away and circled it–the prospect, beyond the series of gardens, of scattered, splendid trees and green glades, an horizon mainly of woods.