I see psychoanalysis, art and biology ultimately coming together, just like cognitive psychology and neuroscience have merged.

Truth has many dimensions, and the way you arrive at truth in complex situations is through many perspectives.

Memory is everything. Without it we are nothing.

The brain is a complex biological organ of great computational capability that constructs our sensory experiences, regulates our thoughts and emotions, and control our actions.

As you know, in most areas of science, there are long periods of beginning before we really make progress.

I don't think biology is replacing the feeling experienced through art. Biology is capable of giving additional insights. It's a parallel, not a substitutive process.

Life is sort of a circle. You come back to a lot of the interests that you had early in life.

It is this potential for plasticity of the relatively stereotyped units of the nervous system that endows each of us with our individuality.

In art, as in science, reductionism does not trivialize our perception - of color, light, and perspective - but allows us to see each of these components in a new way.

Not only Freud but artists and writers were also interested in the unconscious. It was medicine that made the first steps toward modernity.

One of the wonderful things about Internet is its like a salon. It brings people together from different intellectual walks of life.

This most beautiful system of the sun, planets and comets, could only proceed from the counsel and dominion of an intelligent and powerful Being.

Moderation is essential in all things, madam, but never in my life have I failed to beat a teetotaller.

Even with the best intentions, growing apart might just be an inevitable part of growing up.

When you make a great record, it's around forever.

I'm still a 'Star Trek' fan. You never stop being one.

Everything in moderation, with occasional excess.

[Boxer is] the ultimate tool for the serious pro' that can't afford the time and patience to mess around with lesser products.

No wonder, Sir, that he is vain; a man who is perpetually flattered in every mode that can be conceived. So many bellows have blown the fire, that one wonders he is not by this time become a cinder.

Imagine the talented love-child of Andr Previn and Lucille Ball.

All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be.