Mona Lisa Overdrive (Sprawl, #3)

by William Gibson

He’d grown up in white Jersey stringtowns where nobody knew shit about anything and hated anybody who did.

the universe was everything there was, so how could it have a shape? If it had a shape, then there was something around it for it to have a shape in, wasn’t there? And if that something was something, then wasn’t that part of the universe too?

During the very brief wait in the white, plant-filled reception area—surely a matter of ritual, as though a medical appointment that involved no wait might seem incomplete, inauthentic—Angie

maintaining that major corporations were entirely independent of the human beings who composed the body corporate.