I don’t like it, and I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with it.
The multiplicity is only apparent. This is the doctrine of the Upanishads. And not of the Upanishads only. The mystical experience of the union with God regularly leads to this view, unless strong prejudices stand in the West.
The essential feature of statistics is a prudent and systematic ignoring of details.
A careful analysis of the process of observation in atomic physics has shown that the subatomic particles have no meaning as isolated entities, but can only be understood as interconnections between the preparation of an experiment and the subsequent measurement.
Science cannot tell us a word about why music delights us, or why and how an old song can move us to tears.
Our perceiving self is nowhere to be found in the world-picture, because it itself is the world-picture.
If you cannot – in the long run – tell everyone what you have been doing, your doing has been worthless.
The great revelation of the quantum theory was that features of discreteness were discovered in the Book of Nature, in a context in which anything other than continuity seemed to be absurd according to the views held until then.
No self is of itself alone.
The world is given to me only once, not one existing and one perceived. Subject and object are only one.
The material world has only been constructed at the price of taking the self, that is, mind, out of it, removing it; mind is not part of it...
An animal that embarks on forming states without greatly restricting egoism will perish.
Thus you can throw yourself flat on the ground, stretched out upon mother earth, with the certain conviction that you are one with her and she with you.
If a man never contradicts himself, the reason must be that he virtually never says anything at all.
If we are going t stick to this damned quantum-jumping, then I regret that I ever had anything to do with quantum theory.
For a solitary animal egoism is a virtue that tends to preserve and improve the species: in any kind of community it becomes a destructive vice.
The sensation of colour cannot be accounted for by the physicist’s objective picture of light-waves.
Consciousness is a singular of which the plural is unknown. There is only one thing and that which seems to be a plurality is merely a series of different aspects of this one thing, produced by a deception, the Indian maya, as in a gallery of mirrors.
Our mind, by virtue of a certain finite, limited capability, is by no means capable of putting a question to Nature that permits a continuous series of answers. The observations, the individual results of measurements, are the answers of Nature to our discontinuous questioning.
Whence come I and whither go I? That is the great unfathomable question. Science has no answer to it.