Lewis Thomas (November 25, 1913 – December 5, 1993) was an influential American physician, poet, and essayist. Born in Flushing, New York, he dedicated much of his career to medicine and scientific research, holding important positions at institutions such as New York University School of Medicine and Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Thomas is most celebrated for his essay collections, "The Lives of a Cell: Notes of a Biology Watcher" (1974), which earned him the National Book Award, and "The Medusa and the Snail" (1979). His writings explored the interconnection between science, biology, and the human condition, often with a lyrical and reflective language that captivated both specialists and the general public. He addressed themes such as the nature of cells, evolution, ecology, and the meaning of life from a humanist perspective and with a sense of wonder for the natural world. Thomas was also a talented poet. He passed away in 1993, leaving a legacy as one of the great scientific communicators and thinkers of the 20th century, whose work continues to inspire a deeper appreciation for science and life.
Poems List
Viewed from the distance of the moon, theastonishing thing about the earth . . . is that it is alive. . . . Aloft, floating free beneath the moist, gleaming membrane of bright blue sky, is therising earth, the only exuberant thing in this part of the cosmos. . . . It has the organized, self-contained look of a live creature, full ofinformation, marvelously skilled in handling the sun.
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We pass thoughts around, from mind to mind, so compulsively and with such speed that the brains of mankind often appear, functionally, to be undergoing fusion.
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We still think of human disease as the work of an organized, modernized kind of demonology, in which the bacteria are the most visible and centrally placed of our adversaries. We assume that they must somehow relish what they do.
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Given any new technology for transmitting information, we seem bound to use it for great quantities of small talk. We are only saved by music from being overwhelmed by nonsense.
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The whole dear notion of one’s own Self—marvelous old free-willed, free- enterprising, autonomous, independent, isolated island of a Self— is a myth.
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For total greed, rapacity, heartlessness, and irresponsibility there is nothing to match a nation.
3
The human mind is not meant to be governed, certainly not by any book of rules yet written; it is supposed to run itself, and we are obliged to follow it along, trying to keep up with it as best we can.
3
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