Foundation (Foundation, #1)

by Isaac Asimov

It was a tall man that eventually entered, a man whose face seemed all vertical lines and so thin that one could wonder whether there was room for a smile.

Call it idealism. Call it an identification of myself with that mystical generalization to which we refer by the term, ‘humanity.’

Anselm haut Rodric sniffed at it and emitted a clucking sound of pleasure. “Vegan tobacco! Where did you get it?”

“And where is the analysis?” “That,” replied Hardin, “is the interesting thing. The analysis was the most difficult of the three by all odds. When Holk, after two days of steady work, succeeded in eliminating meaningless statements, vague gibberish, useless qualifications—in short, all the goo and dribble—he found he had nothing left. Everything canceled out.

“Violence,” came the retort, “is the last refuge of the incompetent. But I certainly don’t intend to lay down the welcome mat and brush off the best furniture for their use.”

Throughout you have invariably relied on authority or on the past—never on yourselves.” His fists balled spasmodically. “It amounts to a diseased attitude—a conditioned reflex that shunts aside the independence of your minds whenever it is a question of opposing authority. There seems no doubt ever in your minds that the Emperor is more powerful than you are, or Hari Seldon wiser. And that’s wrong, don’t you see?”

Your old map has misled you after all. The stars may not change even in centuries, but political boundaries are all too fluid.”