"I loved doing problems in school"
About this Quote
“I loved doing problems in school” reads like an almost stubbornly small sentence for a man whose life detonated one of mathematics’ biggest fireworks. That understatement is the point. Andrew Wiles isn’t selling genius as lightning; he’s describing it as appetite. “Loved” places the engine of his career not in ambition or prestige but in pleasure - the private, repeatable satisfaction of wrestling something clean and resistant until it gives.
The word “problems” is doing double duty. In everyday speech it’s annoyance; in math it’s invitation. Wiles frames the classroom not as a conveyor belt of grades but as an early training ground for the kind of obsession he later made famous: seven years of near-monastic secrecy pursuing Fermat’s Last Theorem, a problem so old it had accrued myth. That biography changes how the line lands. It’s not nostalgia; it’s an origin story that quietly rejects the narrative of the tortured prodigy who “had to” do it. He wanted to.
There’s subtext, too, in the banality of “in school.” It suggests that extraordinary work often begins inside ordinary structures: a worksheet, a teacher, a library book. Wiles’ remark doubles as a cultural corrective to how we talk about math - not as a talent you’re born with or a trauma you endure, but as a craft you can fall for early, the way some kids fall for novels or basketball. It’s a soft defense of curiosity as destiny.
The word “problems” is doing double duty. In everyday speech it’s annoyance; in math it’s invitation. Wiles frames the classroom not as a conveyor belt of grades but as an early training ground for the kind of obsession he later made famous: seven years of near-monastic secrecy pursuing Fermat’s Last Theorem, a problem so old it had accrued myth. That biography changes how the line lands. It’s not nostalgia; it’s an origin story that quietly rejects the narrative of the tortured prodigy who “had to” do it. He wanted to.
There’s subtext, too, in the banality of “in school.” It suggests that extraordinary work often begins inside ordinary structures: a worksheet, a teacher, a library book. Wiles’ remark doubles as a cultural corrective to how we talk about math - not as a talent you’re born with or a trauma you endure, but as a craft you can fall for early, the way some kids fall for novels or basketball. It’s a soft defense of curiosity as destiny.
Quote Details
| Topic | Study Motivation |
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