Poul William Anderson (November 25, 1926 – July 31, 2001) was a prominent American science fiction author who wrote during a Golden Age of the genre. Anderson also authored several works of fantasy.
Born: November 25th, 1926
Died: July 31st, 2001
Categories: Americans, Science fiction authors, 2000s deaths
Quotes: 24 sourced quotes total
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All those agonizing philosophical-theological conundrums amount to "Ask a silly question, get a silly answer."
I have yet to see any problem, however complicated, which, when you looked at it in the right way, did not become still more complicated.
"I've heard assorted rhapsodies about humankind going to the stars, of course. Who hasn't? Each of them founders on the practical problems." "The fish that first ventured ashore had considerable practical problems."
Better a life like a falling star, brief bright across the dark, than the long, long waiting of the immortals, loveless and cheerlessly wise.
We're mortal - which is to say, we're ignorant, stupid, and sinful - but those are only handicaps. Our pride is that nevertheless, now and then, we do our best. A few times we succeed. What more dare we ask for?
Timidity can be as dangerous as rashness.
Anybody can find infinite Mandelbrot figures in his navel.
The last thing any sane person wants is a jihad.
We live with our archetypes, but can we live in them?
You know what they say about bold spacemen never becoming old spacemen.
“Are you that afraid to die?” “No. I simply like to live.”
On our Earth, we’ve perforce learned all the knavery there is to know.
There really wasn’t much in a man’s life that mattered. But those few things mattered terribly.
He’d seen too often how little of the universe is designed for man to neglect any safety measure.
A man isn't really alive till he has something bigger than himself and his own little happiness, for which he'd gladly die.
Another irritating thing about Naqsans was their habit of solemnly repeating the obvious. In that respect they were almost as bad as humans.
What’s to explain? I’ve scant use for those types whose chief interest is their grubby little personal neuroses. Not in a universe as rich as this.
Heim ignored the mob scene on the 3V, rested his eyes on the cold serenity of the Milky Way and thought that this, at least, would endure.
Life isn’t a fairy tale; the knight who kills the dragon doesn’t necessarily get the princess. So what? Who’d want to live in a cosmos less rich and various than the real one?
In Harvest of Stars, there is this notion, not original with me of course, that it will become possible to download at least the basic aspects of a human personality into a machine program...
“My mother taught me a Spanish saying,” he remarked, “that it takes four men to make a salad: a spendthrift for the oil, a philosopher for the seasonings, a miser for the vinegar, and a madman for the tossing.”
I wrote the first book, Harvest of Stars, and as I was writing it, I saw that certain implications had barely been touched on... It's perfectly obvious that two completely revolutionary things are going on, with cybernetics, and biological science.
Light fills the air, wind is aglow, drink of it, breathe of it, make leafing. Rainfall sows itself, it grows down through soil to the secret places where stones abide; it brings the strength of them up rootward. Lie still, molder away, then be again grass.
So much American science fiction is parochial -- not as true now as it was years ago, but the assumption is one culture in the future, more or less like ours, and with the same ideals, the same notions of how to do things, just bigger and flashier technology. Well, you know darn well it doesn't work that way...