Clifford Stoll

When I'm online, I'm alone in a room, tapping on a keyboard, staring at a cathode-ray tube.

The internet is a telephone system that's gotten uppity.

Why is it drug addicts and computer afficionados are both called users?

A box of crayons and a big sheet of paper provides a more expressive medium for kids than computerized paint programs.

Rather than bringing me closer to others, the time that I spend online isolates me from the most important people in my life, my family, my friends, my neighbourhood, my community.

Merely that I have a World Wide Web page does not give me any power, any abilities, nor any status in the real world.

Treat your password like your toothbrush. Don't let anybody else use it, and get a new one every six months.

If you don't have an E-mail address, you're in the Netherworld. If you don't have your own World Wide Web page, you're a nobody.

Anyone can post messages to the net. Practically everyone does. The resulting cacophony drowns out serious discussion.

While I admire the insights of many of the people in the world of computing, I get this cold feeling that I speak a different language.

Computers in classrooms are the filmstrips of the 1990s.

Data is not information, information is not knowledge, knowledge is not understanding, understanding is not wisdom.

The Internet is a telephone system that's gotten uppity.