Find them? That I did,' cried Riose. His lips were stiff as he spoke. It seemed to require effort to refrain from grinding molars. 'Patrician, they a… - Isaac Asimov
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Find them? That I did,' cried Riose. His lips were stiff as he spoke. It seemed to require effort to refrain from grinding molars. 'Patrician, they are not magicians; they are devils. It is as far from belief as the outer nebulae from here. Conceive it! It is a world the size of a handkerchief, of a fingernail; with resources so petty, power so minute, a population so microscopic as would never suffice the most backward worlds of the dusty prefects of the Dark Stars. Yet with that, a people so proud and ambitious as to dream quietly and methodically of Galactic rule. 'Why, they are so sure of themselves that they do not even hurry. They move slowly, phlegmatically; they speak of necessary centuries. They swallow worlds at leisure; creep through systems with dawdling complacence. 'And they succeed. There is no one to stop them. They have built up a filthy trading community that curls its tentacles about the systems further than their toy ships dare reach. For parsecs, their Traders – which is what their agents call themselves
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About
Isaac Asimov
Isaac Asimov (c. 2 January 1920 – 6 April 1992) was a Russian-born American biochemist who was a prolific writer of both fiction and non-fiction, his works include the Foundation series and I, Robot.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Phillip Leonian [1] from New York World-Telegram & Sun.[2] (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Alternative Names:
Isaak Osimov
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Paul French
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Asimov
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Isaak Ozimov
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Itzhak Ozimov
People always love themselves best. But in a world so interconnected that harm to one is harm to all, the best way of loving one's self is to love everyone else, too.
He could almost wish he were superstitious. He could then console himself with the thought that the casual meaningless meeting had really been directed by a knowing and purposeful Fate.
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The snow had ceased, but it caked the ground deeply now and the sleek ground car advanced through the deserted streets with lumbering effort. The murky gray light of incipient dawn was cold not only in the poetical sense but also in a very literal way — and even in the then turbulent state of the Foundation's politics, no one, whether Actionist or pro-Hardin, found his spirits sufficiently ardent to begin street activity that early. Yohan Lee did not like that and his grumblings grew audible. "It's going to look bad, Hardin. They're going to say you sneaked away." "Let them say it if they wish. I've got to get to Anacreon and I want to do it without trouble. Now that's enough, Lee." Hardin leaned back into the cushioned seat and shivered slightly. It wasn't cold inside the well-heated car, but there was something frigid about a snow-covered world, even through glass, that annoyed him. He said, reflectively, "Some day when we get around
