Daniel M. Kimmel

You’ve heard of “Rocks for Jocks,” the gimme course that departments of geology often offer? The physics department offering was called—among the faculty, anyway, “Quarks for Dorks.” Lucky me, I got to teach it.

College, after all, was a place where one had most of the privileges of adulthood and very few of the responsibilities. Who wouldn’t want to stay there forever if one could?

Don’t underestimate the power of nerds with access to Internet search engines.

You're a theoretician. I'm more at home in applied physics."
He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Ah yes, the great divide in physics. It's like the nature versus nurture arguments the biologists and psychologists have."
"I wonder what they argue about in the chemistry department," I wondered.
"Probably who has to pick up the check, if they're anything like the professors I know. If it doesn't smell or blow up, they seem more interested in mixing drinks than chemicals.

There are times when you’re incredibly sensitive and insightful. This isn’t one of them.

Let me guess. Las Vegas had time machines as well."
"No," said Price, "but they had something just as troublesome: the Treasury Department.

I got what he was saying. It wasn’t just about crunching numbers. It was about understanding them. It was about seeing the unexpected connections.

I now know the answer to the riddle as to which came first, the chicken or the egg? The correct answer is, “Yes.”

As a journalist, he was used to being lied to.