Arthur C. Clarke is dead. Literature has lost one of its greatest visionaries and humanity has lost one of its most dedicated and positive proponents. He will be missed.
The good thing, however, is that as long as we’re around – and by “we” I mean our entire species, the species that Clarke had hope for when so many other writers have nothing but fashionable misanthropy – his stories and his ideas will be with us. Forever.
(And if there is an afterlife, I will find him and kick his arse for dying before someone could make a Rama movie.)