So far from being an isolated phenomenon the late war is only an example of the disruptive result that we may constantly expect from the progress of science.

I have tried to show why I believe that the biologist is the most romantic figure on earth at the present day. At first sight he seems to be just a poor little scrubby underpaid man, groping blindly amid the mazes of the ultra-microscopic, engaging in bitter and lifelong quarrels over the nephridia of flatworms, waking perhaps one morning to find that someone whose name he has never heard has demolished by a few crucial experiments the work which he had hoped would render him immortal.

Christianity is haunted by the theory of a God with a craving for bloody sacrifices.

This is my prediction for the future: Whatever hasn't happened will happen, and no one will be safe from it.

I have come to the conclusion that my subjective account of my motivation is largely mythical on almost all occasions. I don't know why I do things.

Would I lay down my life to save my brother? No, but I would to save two brothers or eight cousins.

I am quite sure that our views on evolution would be very different had biologists studied genetics and natural selection before and not after most of them were convinced that evolution had occurred.