The future is there Cayce hears herself say looking back at us. Trying to make sense of the fiction we will have become. And from where they are the past behind us will look nothing at all like the past we imagine behind us now.
William Gibson
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Lost so small amid that dark hands grown cold body image fading down corridors of television sky.
- William Gibson -
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His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hairfine glass spines.
- William Gibson