Where is home? I've wondered where home is, and I realized, it's not Mars or someplace like that, it's Indianapolis when I was nine years old. I had a brother and a sister, a cat and a dog, and a mother and a father and uncles and aunts. And there's no way I can get there again.
I am honorary president of the American Humanist Association, having
succeeded the late, great, spectacularly prolific writer and scientist,
Dr. Isaac Asimov in that essentially functionless capacity. At an
A.H.A. memorial service for my predecessor I said, “Isaac is up in
Heaven now.” That was the funniest thing I could have said to an
audience of humanists. It rolled them in the aisles. Mirth! Several
minutes had to pass before something resemble solemnity could be
restored. So when my own time comes to join the choir invisible or whatever, God
forbid, I hope someone will say, “He's up in Heaven now.” Who really
knows? I could have dreamed all this.
My last words? “Life is no way to treat an animal, not even a mouse.”
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