#richard feynman

[per-asperaa-ad-astra]

When a physicist falls in love :)

Richard Feynman's love letter to his deceased wife, 1946.

[arctic-hands]

I'm not upset discussions of Sally Ride these days don't leave out the fact that she was a lesbian and therefore the first known queer person in space (albeit a fact only known after her death), but I hate that the fact that what is left out is that she, while part of the Roger's Commission after Challenger exploded, was the whistleblower who made sure the information for the defects of the O-rings made its way to Richard Feynman, who then famously, publicly, and on camera demonstrated how icy coldness (such as the cold and icy weather the morning before Challenger launched) could critically deform the O-rings used and keep them from forming a seal. This was also only revealed after she died. (x)

Whenever Sally Ride comes up these days among my (overwhelmingly queer) friends, we all acknowledge that she was a lesbian and celebrate what a role model she was not just for girls but for queer kids (and adults) too, but everyone is always surprised when I bring up the whistleblowing thing, which I think is damn shame and a disservice to her legacy.

[thoughtkick]

I would rather have questions that can't be answered than answers that can't be questioned.

Richard Feynman

[lost-monster-16]

"Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible." — Richard Feynman

[married-to-a-redhead]

[davidhudson]

Richard Feynman, May 11, 1918 – February 15, 1988.

[resqectable]

I would rather have questions that can't be answered than answers that can't be questioned.

Richard Feynman

[pinterestxetsna]

Feynman’s Love Letter to His Wife, Sixteen Months After Her Death

October 17, 1946

D’Arline,

I adore you, sweetheart.

I know how much you like to hear that — but I don’t only write it because you like it — I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you.

It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you — almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.

But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.

I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead — but I still want to comfort and take care of you — and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you — I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together — or learn Chinese — or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures.

When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true — you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else — but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.

I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I — I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone — but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real.

My darling wife, I do adore you.

I love my wife. My wife is dead.

Rich.

PS Please excuse my not mailing this — but I don’t know your new address