Science is a cemetery of dead ideas, even though life may issue from them.
The moment love is equated with happiness, it is satisfied — and is no longer love. The satisfied, the happy ones, do not love; they fall asleep in habit, near neighbor to annihilation.
Science is a cemetary of dead ideas.
Love is the child of illusion and the parent of disillusion.
Only he who attempts the absurd is capable of achieving the impossible.
The devil is an angel too.