Science is a cemetery of dead ideas.

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.

I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas and land on barbarous coasts.

When they shout “Long live progress,” always ask, “Progress of what?”

The atavistic urge toward danger persists and its satisfaction is called adventure.

Appearances are a glimpse of the obscure.

What one man can invent another can discover.

Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world.

Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose. 

There are truths that prove their discoverers witless.

The eternal mystery of the world is its comprehensibility.

I learned to make my mind large, as the universe is large, so that there is room for paradoxes.