"Two years work wasted, I have been breeding those flies for all that time and I've got nothing out of it"
About this Quote
The line lands like a lab-bench tragedy: not the heroic “Eureka,” but the weary confession that science mostly feels like failing in slow motion. Thomas Hunt Morgan, speaking as a working experimentalist, is voicing the unglamorous core of discovery - two years of meticulous care, time, money, and attention poured into fruit flies, and the universe refusing to cooperate. It’s funny in its bluntness, but the humor is barbed: the world rewards the myth of effortless genius while the reality is repetitive labor and long stretches where “nothing” happens.
Context matters because Morgan wasn’t just any biologist; he became the central figure in early genetics. His lab’s work with Drosophila eventually produced decisive evidence that genes live on chromosomes and that inheritance could be mapped with statistical rigor. So the subtext here is almost anti-mythmaking. Before the white-hot certainty of a paradigm shift, there is tedium, doubt, and the suspicion that you’ve built your career on an obsession with insects that don’t deliver.
The specific intent reads as both complaint and calibration. It signals a scientist resisting premature storytelling: no forced conclusions, no comforting narrative that “every experiment teaches you something.” He’s naming the sunk costs directly, which is also a kind of intellectual hygiene. By admitting wasted time, Morgan foregrounds the real ethic of research: you don’t get to choose the outcome, only the rigor. The sting in “got nothing out of it” is what makes the later breakthrough feel earned rather than ordained.
Context matters because Morgan wasn’t just any biologist; he became the central figure in early genetics. His lab’s work with Drosophila eventually produced decisive evidence that genes live on chromosomes and that inheritance could be mapped with statistical rigor. So the subtext here is almost anti-mythmaking. Before the white-hot certainty of a paradigm shift, there is tedium, doubt, and the suspicion that you’ve built your career on an obsession with insects that don’t deliver.
The specific intent reads as both complaint and calibration. It signals a scientist resisting premature storytelling: no forced conclusions, no comforting narrative that “every experiment teaches you something.” He’s naming the sunk costs directly, which is also a kind of intellectual hygiene. By admitting wasted time, Morgan foregrounds the real ethic of research: you don’t get to choose the outcome, only the rigor. The sting in “got nothing out of it” is what makes the later breakthrough feel earned rather than ordained.
Quote Details
| Topic | Failure |
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