We are the recipients of scientific method. We can each be a creative and active part of it if we so desire.

Science grows like a weed every year.

There is a general place in your brain, I think, reserved for melancholy of relationships past. It grows and prospers as life progresses, forcing you finally, against your better judgment, to listen to country music.

Science consistently produces a new crop of miraculous truths and dazzling devices every year.

We were fortunate to have the Russians as our childhood enemies. We practiced hiding under our desks in case they had the temerity to drop a nuclear weapon.

In the 1950s in Columbia, South Carolina, it was considered OK for kids to play with weird things. We could go to the hardware store and buy 100 feet of dynamite fuse.

I'm not driven by being understood.