The future is there... looking back at us. Trying to make sense of the fiction we will have become. — William Gibson Copy Share Image
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… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“We have no idea, now, of who or what the inhabitants of our future might be. In that sense, we have no future. Not… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
For me, the melancholy of the late XXth Century is walking late at night by the Mont Blanc pen store and seeing these things… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“No," said Blackwell, "she won't, because that would be a violation of the very personal terms I will have established in our conversation. That's… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“Music was strange that way though; there were people into any damned thing, it seemed like, and if you got enough of them together… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
When I start writing a new imaginary future, I have no idea what it is. The characters arrive first. They help me figure out… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
Hollis thought he looked like William Burroughs, minus the bohemian substrate (or perhaps the methadone). Like someone who'd be invited quail shooting with the… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
Fiction is an illusion wrought with many small, conventionally symbolic marks, triggering visions in the minds of others — William Gibson Copy Share Image
I don't generate a storyline and then fill it out in the course of writing. The story actually generates in the course of the… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“What happened to your arm?" she asked me one night in the Gentleman Loser, the three of us drinking at a small table in… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“In Heathrow a vast chunk of memory detached itself from a blank bowl of airport sky and fell on him. He vomited into a… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
And, for an instant, she stared directly into those soft blue eyes and knew, with an instinctive mammalian certainty, that the exceedingly rich were… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
