The Science Of Life Is

The Physiologist Is Not A Man Of The World, He Is A Scientist, A Man Caught And Absorbed By A Scientific Idea That He Pursues; He No Longer Hears The Cries Of The Animals, No Longer Sees The Flowing Blood, He Sees Only His Idea: Organisms That Hide From Him Problems That He Wants To Discover. He Doesn't Feel That He Is In A Horrible Carnage; Under The Influence Of A Scientific Idea, He Pursues With Delight A Nervous Filament Inside Stinking And Livid Flesh That For Any Other Person Would Be An Object Of Disgust And Horror.

Art Is 'i'; Science Is 'we'.

The Science Of Life Is A Superb And Dazzlingly Lighted Hall Which May Be Reached Only By Passing Through A Long And Ghastly Kitchen.

Proof That A Given Condition Always Precedes Or Accompanies A Phenomenon Does Not Warrant Concluding With Certainty That A Given Condition Is The Immediate Cause Of That Phenomenon. It Must Still Be Established That When This Condition Is Removed, The Phenomen Will No Longer Appear.

Man Does Not Limit Himself To Seeing; He Thinks And Insists On Learning The Meaning Of Phenomena Whose Existence Has Been Revealed To Him By Observation. So He Reasons, Compares Facts, Puts Questions To Them, And By The Answers Which He Extracts, Tests One By Another. This Sort Of Control, By Means Of Reasoning And Facts, Is What Constitutes Experiment, Properly Speaking; And It Is The Only Process That We Have For Teaching Ourselves About The Nature Of Things Outside Us.