I first watched Leonard Nimoy on Star Trek, where he played the character that made him, in many ways, famous. I did not watch—until much later—the series. No, my introduction to Mr. Spock came through the movies. The “token alien” in the movies, he spoke to me, an alien in many strange lands. He was calm, and rational, and amazingly brilliant. When he spoke, he commanded attention quietly, without any fanfare or drama. In the words of Phillip K. Dick, he calmed our normal hysteria, in his voice was almost a god-like certainty and reasonability.

Leonard Nimoy was an inspiration. After Star Trek, he became a writer, a photographer, and a poet. He was a supporter of the arts and sciences.

Age did not diminish him. It lent him gravitas. His voice, sonorous and rich, was to me the voice of intelligence and rationality, at a time when such traits were not universally admired. Yet it was also a voice shaped by a profound love of humanity. You cannot read his poetry without being aware of this deep love, you cannot hear him speak without feeling a sense of paternal compassion, of genuine warmth. His presence radiated generosity.

If I am who I am today, if there is any semblance of grace or dignity or generosity in my demeanor, it is in part because I have followed the footsteps of giants such as Leonard Nimoy.

I close with Mr. Nimoy’s last tweet, which reveals the eloquence and grace that defined him:

A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP

He will be deeply missed, and my deepest sympathies go to his family and friends.