It is not easy to imagine how little interested a scientist usually is in the work of any other, with the possible exception of the teacher who backs him or the student who honors him.

It may offend us to hear our own thoughts expressed by others: we are not sure enough of their souls.

We spend our time envying people whom we wouldn't wish to be.

Falsity cannot keep an idea from being beautiful; there are certain errors of such ingenuity that one could regret their not ranking among the achievements of the human mind.

Far too often the choices reality proposes are such as to take away one's taste for choosing.

What scientist would not long to go on living, if only to see how the little truths he has brought to light will grow up?

Renown? I've already got more of it than those I respect, and will never have as much as those for whom I feel contempt.