I think it is the general rule that the originator of a new idea is not the most suitable person to develop it, because his fears of something going wrong are really too strong... At age 69.

I consider that I understand an equation when I can predict the properties of its solutions, without actually solving it.

A theory with mathematical beauty is more likely to be correct than an ugly one that fits some experimental data.

God used beautiful mathematics in creating the world.

It seems that if one is working from the point of view of getting beauty in one's equations, and if one has really a sound insight, one is on a sure line of progress.

Living is worthwhile if one can contribute in some small way to this endless chain of progress.

If there is a God, he's a great mathematician.

If we are honest - and scientists have to be - we must admit that religion is a jumble of false assertions, with no basis in reality.

It is more important to have beauty in one's equations than to have them fit experiment.

One could perhaps describe the situation by saying that God is a mathematician of a very high order, and He used very advanced mathematics in constructing the universe.

Scientific progress is measured in units of courage, not intelligence.

Not even a book on prosperity can prosper you, when what is expected of you is given, your time won't be wasted.

A day without family is like a year without rain

Where there is love, there is no imposition.

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I have the best family and fans in the world!

Personally I don't like it when writers become excessively proscriptive about the way that people read their books.

Cause you know, life is what we make it and a chance is like a picture, it'd be nice if you just take it.

Mob rule can not be allowed to override the decisions of our courts.

The allure becomes, "Can I make these rooms bigger?" Can I fill these 1,500-seat rooms? Then the allure is, how much, if we're being honest, how much can I squeeze out of it financially?

In 1910, eighty-two-year-old Leo Tolstoy flees from his wife and dies in a railway station of exposure.

For the past couple of years I was doing the party thing - going out a lot. But now I've turned 25, I feel I'm an adult.