It startled him even more when just after he was awarded the Galactic Institute's Prize for Extreme Cleverness he got lynched by a rampaging mob of respectable physicists who had finally realized that the one thing they really couldn't stand was a smart-ass.

What is the point? We assume that every time we do anything we know what the consequences will be, i.e., more or less what we intend them to be. This is not only not always correct. It is wildly, crazily, stupidly, cross-eyed-blithering-insectly wrong!

You can't dodge your responsibilities by saying they don't exist!

Why should I want to make anything up? Life's bad enough as it is without wanting to invent any more of it.

The world is a thing of utter inordinate complexity and richness and strangeness that is absolutely awesome.

If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a nonworking cat.

You can't possibly be a scientist if you mind people thinking that you're a fool.