The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

The NET is a waste of time, and that's exactly what's right about it.

The past is past, the future unformed. There is only the moment, and that is where he prefers to be.

They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russian mycotoxin. Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel, his talent burning out micron by micron, he hallucinate…