1984W. GibsonNeuromancer (1986) 192
The reason Straylight’s not exactly hoppin' with Tessier-Ashpools is that they're mostly in cold sleep. There’s a law firm in London keeps track of their powers of attorney. Has to know who’s awake and exactly when.
1982W. GibsonBurning Chrome in Omni July 72/2
I knew every chip in Bobby’s simulator by heart; it looked like your workaday Ono-Sendai VII, the ‘Cyberspace Seven’, but I’d rebuilt it so many times that you’d have had a hard time finding a square millimetre of factory circuitry in all that silicon.
1984W. GibsonNeuromancer (1989) ii.iii.51
Cyberspace. A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts…A graphic representation of data abstracted from the banks of every computer in the human system. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light ranged in the nonspace of the mind, clusters and constellations of data. Like city lights, receding.
1985B. GibsonLetter in Flash Point (#7) Oct. 7
[T]he sacred waters of Not Writing Count Zero Any More flow over me like the grace of the
living God. This is to mere gafia as Peruvian flake is to lookalike diet pills.
1986W. Gibson in Interzone Spring 10/1,
I grinned, thinking about that, and suddenly it hit me that it really was over, that I was done with Lise, and that now she'd be sucked off to Hollywood as inexorably as if she'd poked her toe into a black hole, drawn down by the unthinkable gravitic tug of Big Money.
1984W. GibsonNeuromancer (2004) iv. 65
Its rainbow pixel maze was the first thing he saw when he woke. He'd go straight to the deck, not bothering to dress, and jack in…. He jacked in and worked for nine straight hours.
1982W. GibsonHinterlands in W. Gibson Burning Chrome (1986) 78
Tsiolkovsky 1 is fixed at the libration point between Earth’s gravity and the moon’s, but we need a lightsail to hold us here, twenty tons of aluminum spun into a hexagon, ten kilometres from side to side. That sail towed us out from Earth orbit, and now it’s our anchor.
1996W. GibsonIdoru xxiii. 163
It was, the Belgian said, as though the city, in its convulsion and grief, had spontaneously and necessarily generated this hidden pocket universe of the soul, its few unbroken windows painted over with black rubber aquarium paint.
1981W. GibsonGernsback Continuum in Universe 11 (1983) 107
Quit yelling and listen to me. I’m letting you in on a trade secret: really bad media can exorcise your semiotic ghosts. If it keeps the saucer people off my back, it can keep these Art Deco futuroids off yours. Try it. What have you got to lose?