Lewis Thomas

Date of Birth:

25-Nov-1913

Nationality:

United Kingdom

Profession:

Lewis Thomas (November 25, 1913 - December 3, 1993) was a physician, poet, etymologist, journalist, manager, educator, policy advisor, and researcher. Thomas was born in Flushing, New York and studied at Princeton University and Harvard Medical School. He became Dean of Yale Medical School and the New York University School of Medicine, and President of Memorial Sloan-Ketching Institute. His formative years as an independent medical researcher were at the Tulane University School of Medicine. He was invited to write regular articles in the New England Journal of Medicine, and won a National Book Award for the compilation of such articles, The Lives of a Cell: Notes of a Biology Watcher. He also received a Christopher Award for this book. The other two story collections (from NEJM and other sources) are The Medusa and Konline and Late Night Thoughts on Listening to Mahler's Ninth Symphony. His autobiography, Young Science: Notes on the Medicine Watcher is a history of the years of medicine and the changes that took place. He has also published a book on the etymology of Et Cetera, Et Cetera, poetry, and numerous scientific papers. Many of his articles discuss the relationship between ideas or concepts using etymology as a starting point. Others worry about the cultural consequences of scientific discovery and growing awareness of nature. In his book Mahler's Ninth Symphony, Thomas discusses the concerns generated by the development of nuclear weapons. Thomas is often quoted, given his excellent style interests. The Lewis Thomas Award is presented annually by the Rockefeller University to scientists for excellence in the arts.

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Lewis Thomas

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QUOTES BY Lewis Thomas

The capacity to blunder slightly is the real marvel of DNA. Without this special attribute, we would still be anaerobic bacteria and there would be no music.

The greatest of all the accomplishments of 20th century science has been the discovery of human ignorance

Statistically, the probability of any one of us being here is so small that you'd think the mere fact of existing would keep us all in a contented dazzlement of surprise.

The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers.

Survival, in the cool economics of biology, means simply the persistence of one's own genes in the generations to follow.

The uniformity of the earth's life, more astonishing than its diversity, is accountable by the high probability that we derived, originally, from some single cell, fertilized in a bolt of lightning as the earth cooled.

Of all celestial bodies within reach or view, as far as we can see, out to the edge, the most wonderful and marvellous and mysterious is turning out to be our own planet earth. There is nothing to match it anywhere, not yet anyway.

Sometimes you get a glimpse of a semicolon coming, a few lines farther on, and it is like climbing a steep path through woods and seeing a wooden bench just at a bend in the road ahead, a place where you can expect to sit for a moment, catching your breath.

Having long suspected that there was something alive in there, running the place, separate from everything else, absolutely individual and independent, we've celebrated by giving it a real name. My self.

Statistically, the probability of any one of us being here is so small that the mere fact of our existence should keep us all in a state of contented dazzlement.