Isaac Asimov
Isaac Asimov
Isaac Asimovwas an American author and professor of biochemistry at Boston University. He was known for his works of science fiction and popular science. Asimov was prolific and wrote or edited more than 500 books and an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards. His books have been published in 9 of the 10 major categories of the Dewey Decimal Classification...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth2 January 1920
CityPetrovichi, Russia
CountryUnited States of America
If there is a category of human being for whom his work ought to speak for itself, it is the writer.
Human beings thought with their hands. It was their hands that were the answer of curiosity, that felt and pinched and turned and lifted and hefted. There were animals that had brains of respectable size, but they had no hands and that made all the difference.
There was this superstitious fear on the part of the pygmies of the present for the relics of the giants of the past.
To any who know the star field well from one certain reference point, stars are as individual as people. Jump ten parsecs, however, and not even your own sun is recognizable.
The history of science is full of revolutionary advances that required small insights that anyone might have had, but that, in fact, only one person did.
You wait for the war to happen like vultures. If you want to help, prevent the war. Don't save the remnants. Save them all.
Meanwhile, fears of universal disaster sank to an all time low over the world.
Economics is on the side of humanity now.
How many people is the earth able to sustain?
All life is nucleic acid; the rest is commentary
I was once being interviewed by Barbara Walters...In between two of the segments she asked me..."But what would you do if the doctor gave you only six months to live?" I said, "Type faster." This was widely quoted, but the "six months" was changed to "six minutes," which bothered me. It's "six months.
The whole business is the crudest sort of stratagem, since we have no way of foreseeing it to the end. It is a mere paying out of rope on the chance that somewhere along the length of it will be a noose.
If you were to insist I was a robot, you might not consider me capable of love in some mystic human sense, but you would not be able to distinguish my reactions from that which you would call love so what difference would it make?
It is well-known that the friend of a conqueror is but the last victim.