We futurists have a magic button. We follow every statement about a failed forecast with 'yet.'
The Law of Raspberry Jam: the wider any culture is spread, the thinner it gets.
One of the more fantastic possibilities is that man will be able to make biological carbon copies of himself.
No serious futurist deals in prediction. These are left for television oracles and newspaper astrologers.
My wife and I, unlike many intellectuals, spent five years working on assembly lines. We came to fully understand the criticisms of the industrial age, in which you are an appendage of a machine that sets the pace.
Anyone nit-picking enough to write a letter of correction to an editor doubtless deserves the error that provoked it.
I work virtually every waking hour.
The biggest tragedy I had was the loss of my daughter from neuromuscular disease in 2000, at age 46.
