Dev Jones

“But science should be based in fact, not fashion. And policy should be based on science. Facts shouldn’t change. And indeed, they don’t. But their interpretation does. Consider the idea that inflammation causes heart disease. First espoused in the late 1800s after the invention of aspirin by Bayer, this idea was relegated to the dustbin of medical science in favor of the cholesterol hypothesis, which reigned for the second half of the twentieth century. But over the last decade, the “inflammation hypothesis” has made a decided comeback, and is now thought to be the primary factor in the genesis of atherosclerotic plaques and thrombosis.”
― John Yudkin, Pure, White, and Deadly: How Sugar Is Killing Us and What We Can Do to Stop It

“She didn't hear anything except a muted fuzzy silence. It was the first time in days and days she hadn't heard the ocean and the rain and the wind. She closed her eyes. Quiet. That would have been enough. For the scientist to have given her this minute of peace would have been enough. Then she heard a coo. Another longer coo, sliding from high to low. Oh, it was saying. Oh. Is it you? In answer came more ghostly, plaintive calls. The dolphins sang to each other. The songs pierced her chest like hot sticks, each call sharper than the last. She hoped Doug could hear them. She began to cry.”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6

“First of all, true prophecies don’t go out of style. That’s like saying Darwin’s The Origin of Species is irrelevant because Darwin didn’t know what genes were. Secondly, it is a signpost on a journey of pilgrimage. It provides you with perspective on where you’ve come from, and where you’re going. And lastly, Yudkin correctly fingered the sugar and food industries for what they were, and still are. Those”
― John Yudkin, Pure, White, and Deadly: How Sugar Is Killing Us and What We Can Do to Stop It

“All these years I was miserable because I was the one who had been dumped, left, thrown over for a city and a drug he couldn't resist. I remembered his face clearly, his nostrils flared and his lips in a sneer. "Go," he had said, "I don't want you here. Go back to school or whatever. Go now." I didn't remember the pirouettes or the swing or the Chinese waiter, but I clearly remembered his disgust. For thirty years I had wiggled the loose tooth of his disdain. For thirty years I had berated myself for not staying and putting up with it--trying to help him even though he was done with me. And for thirty years I knew I was the one whose heart was broken. I had only that minuscule speck of comfort. I had loved him more than he had loved me. It was my only talent. What would it mean if all these years I'd gotten it wrong?”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6