This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
The seat of the soul and the control of voluntary movement - in fact, of nervous functions in general, - are to be sought in the heart. The brain is an organ of minor importance.
Follow your heart but take your brain with you.
The brain is a tissue. It is a complicated, intricately woven tissue, like nothing else we know of in the universe, but it is composed of cells, as any tissue is. They are, to be sure, highly specialized cells, but they function according to the laws that govern any other cells. Their electrical and chemical signals can be detected, recorded and interpreted and their chemicals can be identified; the connections that constitute the brain's woven feltwork can be mapped. In short, the brain can be studied, just as the kidney can.
But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.
The human brain, then, is the most complicated organization of matter that we know.
Brain: an apparatus with which we think that we think. Mind, n. A mysterious form of matter secreted by the brain.
If my heart could do my thinking, would my brain begin to feel?
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain
The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.
Reading, after a certain age, diverts the mind too much from its creative pursuits. Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking.
A man who works with his hands is a laborer; a man who works with his hands and his brain is a craftsman; but a man who works with his hands and his brain and his heart is an artist.
When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.
I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop.
He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice.
My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?
Brain: an apparatus with which we think we think.
Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties.
I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose.
or simply:
