So we and our elaborately evolving computers may meet each other halfway. Someday a human being, named perhaps Fred White, may shoot a robot named Pete Something-or-other, which has come out of a General Electric factory, and to his surprise see it weep and bleed. And the dying robot may shoot back and, to its surprise, see a wisp of gray smoke arise from the electric pump that it supposed was Mr. White's beating heart. It would be rather a great moment of truth for both of them.

You're killing yourself with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by one and now you have nothing to give your love to.

You know what the doctor said to me to cheer me up?" Fat said. "There are worse diseases than cancer." "Did he show you slides?" We both laughed. When you are nearly crazy with grief, you laugh at what you can.

We should take mothers in high seas and drown them there, they are as poisonous as lead in the air.

How much of what we call 'reality' is actually out there or rather within our own head?

I never liked the idea of doing what a machine says. I hate having to salute something built in a factory.

I'm tired and I want to rest; I want to get out of this and go lie down somewhere, off where it's dark and no one speaks. Forever.