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True love means two seeds grow separately until they join in Matrimony forever.
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Neuromancer is an early cyberpunk novel by William Gibson.


  • The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
  • A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he'd taken and the corners he cut in Night City, and he'd still see the matrix in his dreams, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colourless void... The Sprawl was a long, strange way home now over the Pacific, and he was no Console Man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he'd cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn't there.
  • At some point he realized that he had began to play a game with himself, a very ancient one with no name, a kind of final solitare.
  • Threading his way through the crowds, he could smell the stench of his own stale sweat.
  • The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.
  • It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.
  • Night city was like an experiment in social Darwinism designed by a bored researcher who kept his thumb permanently on the fast forward button.
  • Her body language was disorienting, her style foreign. She seemed continually on the verge of colliding with someone, but people melted out of her way, stepped sideways, made room. "How you doing, Case?" He heard the words and felt her form them. She slid a hand into her jacket, a fingertip circling a nipple under warm silk. The sensation made him catch his breath. She laughed. But the link was one way. He had no way to reply.


  • Rent me a gun, Shin?
  • Now that... That is so much bullshit.
  • Not if I remember to take my pills.
  • Iffy... It's all looking very iffy tonight.


  • You are too much the artiste, Herr Case... You are the artiste of the slightly funny deal.
  • Now, some night, you get a little too artistic, wind up in a clinic tank, spare parts.
  • An angel passed.


  • One live body, brains still somewhat intact. Molly, Case. My name's Molly.
  • 'Cept I do hurt people sometimes, Case. I guess it's just the way I'm wired.
  • Anybody any good at what they do, that’s what they are, right? You gotta jack, I gotta tussle.

McCoy Pauley

  • Hey, boy, I was that good when I was alive. You ain't seen nothin'.
  • Real motive problem, with an AI. Not human, see?


  • The cores know everything. (3Jane)
  • Measure twice, cut once. (Zion Founder)