Mona Lisa Overdrive (Sprawl, #3)

by William Gibson

There’s no there, there. They taught that to children, explaining cyberspace.

Thinking of the other’s dreams, of corridors winding in upon themselves, muted tints of ancient carpet … An old man, a head made of jewels, a taut pale face with eyes that were mirrors … And a beach in the wind and dark. Not this beach, not Malibu.