Many philosophers in the second half of the 20th century really seemed to think that they were laying the foundations for science by laying down the conceptual (necessary) truths.

It is surely important that the differences between coma, deep sleep, being under anesthesia, on the one hand, and being alert on the other, all involve changes in the brain.

Brains are not magical; they are causal machines.

Humility bids us to take ourselves as we are; we do not have to be cosmically significant to be genuinely significant.

It seems that the brain has a "small world" architecture - or at least the cortex does. Everything can connect to everything else in a few synaptic steps.

Theorizing is of course essential to make progress in understanding, but theorizing in the absence of knowing available relevant facts is not very productive.

It seems probable that humans have been on the planet, with much the same brain, for about 250,000 years.

If you give up because you announce the phenomenon cannot be explained, you are missing out.

In all probability, mental states are processes and activities of the brain. Exactly what activities, and exactly at what level of description, remains to be seen.

Suppression of impulses that would put you in danger is obviously an important neurobiological function.

I am less attracted to guesses about what cannot be done, than about making progress on a problem.

Once you’ve read too many trashy best-sellers, you begin to look for something with substance, something that attempts to define the universe.

It took me awhile to learn the rules. OK, it took the librarian in me weeks of careful obsessive research to learn the rules. There was a label maker involved. I'd rather not go into it.

The Republic is weak and broken." I narrow my eyes. "But it is still your country. Fight for it. This is your home, not theirs.

When I have a day off, I will have a day off.

I would wanna be a mermaid, but I think I'm a little bit more of a unicorn, because I'm like a little bit more horsey.

I don't mind my hand shaking so much; it improves my S cast.

Next to love, Sympathy is the divinest passion of the human heart.

I faced the gaudy sunflower on her canvas bag -- it looked hand-painted and at last my eyes fell into hers. I said, 'Thanks for the card.' Her smile put the sunflower to shame. She walked off.

I so wanted to perform, and I grasped every opportunity.

In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows.