Quotes About Artificial

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.

Only if the computers really love each other.

Then we should find some artificial inoculation against love, as with smallpox.

I love you, cold, unfeeling robot arm!

Robotics are beginning to cross that line from absolutely primitive motion to motion that resembles animal or human behavior.

My whole house has a lot of silk flowers - it feels like a garden.

Open your refrigerator, your freezer, your kitchen cupboards, and look at the labels on your food. You'll find 'natural flavor' or 'artificial flavor' in just about every list of ingredients. The similarities between these two broad categories are far more significant than the differences.

Man is not a machine... Although man most certainly processes information, he does not necessarily process it in the way computers do. Computers and men are not species of the same genus... However much intelligence computers may attain, now or in the furture, theirs must always be an intelligence alien to genuine human problems and concerns.

The "Eighth Wonder of the World" (Astronomer) introduced the world to artificial grass and indoor baseball.

Ersatz Israel

The mega-technological fantasy of glorified and constant consumption in controlled and utopian worlds which prepare people psychologically for life in denatured artificial environments has never been more popular.

Country picnics always sound nicer than they are. I think we should just have the idea of them, and be pleased with it, and then not go. The only true pleasures are indoors, artificial, and untainted with healthiness.

Deep learning has instead given us machines with truly impressive abilities but no intelligence. The difference is profound and lies in the absence of a model of reality.

Une pensée écrite est morte. Elle vivait. Elle ne vit plus. Elle était fleur. L'écriture l'a rendue artificielle, c'est-à-dire immuable.

When I was a little kid, all I wanted to do was to escape what I thought was the country and get to a city. Probably film and television had influenced me so much, I really thought the key to happiness was living a very artificial life in a penthouse in New York with martini glasses.

Don't copy another writer's style, because that is not authentic, and that's how it will sound. You develop your style over your whole life and through countless influences. Don't impose something artificial.

There's something inherently life-denying in television and radio and stuff that's canned.

I think there can be a positive sort of futurism even in a presentist society. But I think it's a kind of futurism that envisions augmenting human ability and intellect rather than creating some artificial machine intelligence that displaces us.

When you program a robot to be intelligent, you learn a number of things. You become very humble and develop enormous respect for natural intelligence because, even if you work day and night for several years, your robot isn't that smart after all.

What does it mean to be human, and what is at the human heart, and is there a soul, or is that all there is? Can an artificial being be intelligent? Is 'intelligent' the definition of humanity, or is it something deeper?

In order to be truly intelligent, computers must understand - that is probably the critical word.

He wasn't a complete human being at all. He was a tiny bit of one, unnaturally developed; something in a bottle, an organ kept alive in a laboratory. I thought he was a sort of primitive savage, but he was something absolutely modern and up-to-date that only this ghastly age could produce. A tiny bit of a man pretending he was the whole.

It is no wonder that the writers of the nineteenth century look upon society as an artificial creation of the legislator's genius. This idea -- the fruit of classical education -- has taken possession of all the intellectuals and famous writers of our country. To these intellectuals and writers, the relationship between persons and the legislator appears to be the same as the relationship between the clay and the potter.

She could feel her mind pulling loose like knitting, the neat stitches of her artificial days unravelling to become one mangled thread.