“Cyberspace. A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts... A graphic representation of data abstracted from banks of every computer in the human system. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light… — William Gibson Copy Share Image
“The Matrix has its roots in primitive arcade games,' said the voice-over, 'in early graphics programs and military experimentation with cranial jacks.' On the Sony, a two-dimensional space war faded behind a forest of mathematically generated ferns, demonstrating the spatial… — 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
