I did not study science at school until I was 13, when I was

Hear, O children of knowledge, the tale of how the heart of discovery is kindled not by silence, but by wonder. Robert Winston, a man of medicine and science, spoke these words: “I did not study science at school until I was 13, when I was totally turned on by a seemingly dreary old teacher who suddenly, unannounced, manufactured a huge explosion in the middle of a totally boring monologue. From then on, all of his class wanted to make explosions.” In this simple remembrance lies a profound truth: that the flame of curiosity often requires only a spark, one moment of astonishment, to awaken the soul to a lifelong pursuit.

For what is science if not the art of wonder itself? Many see it first as a dry collection of formulas, a tedious march of facts. But to those who have glimpsed its fire, science is a living mystery, a door to the secrets of creation. It is not words on a page that give it power, but the sudden realization that the universe itself can be touched, felt, shaken to its depths by experiment and exploration. Thus did one weary teacher, with a single bold act, transform the classroom from a graveyard of boredom into a temple of curiosity.

Consider how often the greatest journeys begin not with careful planning, but with an unexpected revelation. The boy Winston, slumbering in the fog of lectures, was startled awake by the roar of an explosion. The sound was more than noise—it was a summons, a herald that said: “The world is alive, and you may learn its secrets if you dare.” From that instant, the pupils longed not for memorization, but for creation, not for passive learning, but for active discovery. And this is the true spirit of knowledge: the desire to see, to test, to play with the very fabric of reality.

History itself tells us such moments transform destinies. Think of Archimedes, who leapt from his bath crying “Eureka!” when the waters revealed to him the principle of buoyancy. What had been a mundane routine became the birth of insight. Or recall how Galileo, gazing through a telescope, saw moons circling Jupiter, and in that vision overturned the very heavens men had trusted for centuries. In each case, the spark of surprise shattered the dull stone of routine and unveiled a path of glory.

The lesson is this: true teaching is not the pouring of facts into an empty vessel, but the striking of flint upon steel until the mind catches flame. A single gesture, a single experiment, a single act of passion may do more than years of monotonous instruction. For the young do not hunger for facts alone; they hunger for meaning, for excitement, for a sense that what they learn matters in the great adventure of life.

Therefore, let all who would teach or inspire remember this: do not fear to be bold. Let your words be alive with energy, let your actions break the chains of predictability. Show your students, your children, your companions the explosions of thought, the marvels of discovery, the joy of creation. For one moment of awe can awaken a soul for a lifetime, while endless monotony may slay curiosity before it ever draws breath.

And to those who learn, be ever watchful for these sparks. Do not despise the dreary, for even in monotony may come the sudden wonder that transforms your path. Be ready to seize it. When the explosion comes—whether in science, art, faith, or love—do not run from it, but let it light your spirit. For the world is filled with such hidden moments, waiting to awaken the seeker.

So let this wisdom be carried forward: knowledge is not a burden, but a fire. It needs only the right flame to awaken it in you. Seek such flames, honor those who ignite them, and strive yourself to become the spark that awakens another soul. In this way, the chain of discovery shall never be broken, and the light of wonder shall pass on to every generation.