Quotes About Curiosity

One day, on tearing off some old bark, I saw two rare beetles, and seized one in each hand. Then I saw a third and new kind, which I could not bear to lose, so I popped the one which I held in my right hand into my mouth. Alas! it ejected some intensely acrid fluid, which burnt my tongue so that I was forced to spit the beetle out, which was lost, as was the third one.

Therefore a man should examine for himself the great piles of superimposed strata, and watch the rivulets bringing down mud, and the waves wearing away the sea-cliffs, in order to comprehend something about the duration of past time, the monuments of which we see all around us.

But when on shore, & wandering in the sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than even Claude ever imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced it can understand - If it is to be done, it must be by studying Humboldt.

No doubt as long as man and all other animals are viewed as independent creations, an effectual stop is put to our natural desire to investigate as far as possible the causes of Expression.

What an extraordinary thing it is, Mr. Darwin seems to spend hours in cracking a horse-whip in his room, for I often hear the crack when I pass under his windows.

I have steadily endeavoured to keep my mind free, so as to give up any hypothesis, however much beloved (and I cannot resist forming one on every subject), as soon as facts are shown to be opposed to it.

There is nothing like geology; the pleasure of the first day's partridge shooting or first day's hunting cannot be compared to finding a fine group of fossil bones, which tell their story of former times with almost a living tongue. Charles Darwin, letter to his sister Catherine, 1834

to express the feelings of a naturalist who, for the first time, has wandered by himself in a Brazilian forest.

To him, the world had no order of succession, no causation, no precedent. Everything he saw was new-minted, and thus every day was a parade of wonders.

A great man of science ... knows everything about everything, except why a hen's egg does not turn into a crocodile and two or three other little things. http://diggingupthefuture.wordpress.com/

Oh, don't hurt me!" cried Tom. "I only want to look at you; you are so handsome.

How do you know that? Have you been there to see? And if you had been there to see, and had seen none, that would not prove that there were none ... And no one has a right to say that no water babies exist till they have seen no water babies existing, which is quite a different thing, mind, from not seeing water babies.

Lawyers, I suppose were once children.

Beware the man of one book. He sleeps in his armour.

Where do you want to go? was his responce. I don't know Alice answered. Then, said the cat, it doesn't matter.

Once God had Moses' attention, He spoke. There are times when God wants to stab our curiosity, so He shocks us out of our routine. Routine is a subtle enemy. We fall into a mental rut, like stumbling into an open grave. And in that mind-numbing routine, we miss God's call.

Simple! On the very first day that I started working at the museum, I asked a scientist the very same question. He told me that the skeleton was sixty-five million years old. That was thirty-eight years ago.

Georgina darts forward, grabs my hand, and pumps it up and down while peering at my face as if she's wondering why water isn't gushing from my mouth.

and go looking for a potted plant that appears hardy enough to survive being irrigated with the stuff.

Very good, Mr. Howard. They were the ones who didn't try to second-guess their commanding officer. Can I suggest that in future you take a leaf from their book and refrain from poking your nose into things you have been told do not concern you? Or at least learn not to be so predictable about it." "Ah—" "Go away before I mock you," he says, sounding distantly amused. I

Really?" Professor Skullface blinked at her in confusion. "Why ever not?

Rita stopped, suddenly acutely aware that while curiosity was her job, too much curiosity was reputedly felicidal:

Startled, she reached into the bag again. Another fortune cookie, another message: I MADE A BANDAGE BUT YOU EATED IT.

I'm really sorry, sir, I was working on a final solution to the packing density problem in the sub-subbasement—" she glanced sideways at the dog-eared paperback lying facedown on her desk, copiously annotated: Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, by Mary Roach—"and I may have become slightly distracted.