Isaac Asimov would have been 87 years old today and had he not gotten sick, he would probably be about ready to publish his 1,000th book. It is a real regret of mine that I never got to meet him in person. But each April, when I re-read his autobiographies, it’s kind of like sitting down with him, and listening to him talk about writing, science fiction, science and life.
We close the post office to mourn the loss of Gerald Ford, and yet we haven’t yet produced a stamp for Isaac Asimov. Do we have our priorities backwards, or what?
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