Quotes from William Gibson

She's a surprisingly advanced product of the early militarization of machine intelligence

beneath her snaky black thundercloud of anti-coiffure.

He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay.

It had always felt to me as though Washington, D.C., to Boston was one span of stuff. You never really leave Springsteenland, you're just in this unbroken highway and strip-mall landscape.

It is an imitation more real somehow than that which it emulates.

Wonderful," the Flatline said, "I never did like to do anything simple when I could do it ass-backwards.

He'd been dreaming about Mrs. Armbruster's class, fifth grade at Oliver North Elementary. They were about to be let out because LearningNet said there was too much Kansas City flu around to keep the kids in Virginia and Tennessee in school that week. They were all wearing these molded white paper masks the nurses had left on their seats that morning. Mrs. Armbruster had just explained the meaning of the word pandemic.

his face expressionless, the tip of his cane planted neatly on the sidewalk and his large hands one atop the other on the brass knob. "First thing that you learn," he said, with the tone of a man reciting a proverb, "is that you always gotta wait . . .

London," Bobby said. "She had to trade me this to get the serious voodoo shit. Thought they wouldn't have anything to do with her. Fuck of a lot of good it did her. They've been fading, sort of blurring. You can still raise em, sometimes, but their personalities run together.…

He said they'd been done in by the Beatles, so the food riots hadn't had to happen. The Beatles and losing their own Vietnam.

ha visto lo que Laney puede hacer con los datos, y lo que éstos a su vez pueden hacer con él. No desea verlo otra vez

They don't buy the product: They recycle the information. They use it to try to impress the next person they meet.

The yellow Lego was brick-shaped again. Pretending innocence.

And somewhere, in a black California morning, some hour before dawn, amid the corridors, the galleries, the faces of dream, fragments of conversation she half-recalled, waking to pale fog against the windows of the master bedroom, she prized something free and dragged it back through the wall of sleep. Rolling over, fumbling through a bedside drawer, finding a Porsche pen, a present from an assistant grip, she inscribed her treasure on the glossy back of an Italian fashion magazine:

Slick stayed where he was, looking up at Gentry's pale eyes, gray in this light, his taut face. Why did he put up with Gentry anyway? Because you needed somebody, in the Solitude. Not just for electricity; that whole landlord routine was really just a shuck. He guessed because you needed somebody around.

As they worked, Case gradually became aware of the music that pulsed constantly through the cluster. It was called dub, a sensuous mosaic cooked from vast libraries of digitalised pop; it was worship, Molly said, and a sense of community.

There is always a point at which the terrorist ceases to manipulate the media gestalt. A point at which the violence may well escalate, but beyond which the terrorist has become symptomatic of the media gestalt itself. Terrorism as we ordinarily understand it is inately media-related.

N-methyl-4-phenyl-1236

abs you could do laundry on, the

A few letter-writers had taken refuge in doorways, their old voiceprinters wrapped in sheets of clear plastic, evidence that the written word still enjoyed a certain prestige here.

Hackney, he thought irritably, glaring at it. Always gotten up as something it wasn't.

We carve history from totalities beyond our grasp. Bolt labels on the result. Handles. Then speak of the handles as though they were things in themselves.

They seem to have accepted that she's gone." "I don't see how they could be sure she is. But I wish we'd known. Could've brought some flowers." "Daedra never suggested this. It seems to be a surprise." "A surprise funeral? You do that, here?" "A first, for me.

What's that smell?" he asked Molly, wrinkling his nose. "The grass. Smells that way after they cut it.