I, Robot

by Isaac Asimov

You see,” he tapped his pince-nez into one palm argumentatively, “what the labor unions don’t realize—and I say this as a man who has always been very sympathetic with the labor movement in general—is that the advent of the robot, while involving some dislocation to begin with, will inevitably—”

Since when is the evidence of our senses any match for the clear light of rigid reason?”

Postulates are based on assumption and adhered to by faith. Nothing in the Universe can shake them.

“Nothing ever goes wrong when you watch them.

Susan Calvin talked about Powell and Donovan with unsmiling amusement, but warmth came into her voice when she mentioned robots.

“It’s your fiction that interests me. Your studies of the interplay of human motives and emotions”—

“I see into minds, you see,” the robot continued, “and you have no idea how complicated they are. I can’t begin to understand everything because my own mind has so little in common with them—but I try, and your novels help.”

“Susan,” said Bogert, with an air of sympathetic amusement. “I’ll admit that this Frankenstein Complex you’re exhibiting has a certain justification—

“She’s qualified all right. She understands robots like a sister—comes from hating human beings so much, I think.

sheer neurotic necessity to outthink humans.

I notice that capable men are still at a premium in our society; we still need the man who is intelligent enough to think of the proper questions to ask.