Top Highlights

• sentence, prolongs a glance between us. I wonder if the thought itself is part of the nature of physical love, a reverse Darwinism that awards sadness and fear to the survivor.
• “It’s the stuff that falls from the sky and gets you what is called wet.” “I’m not wet. Are you wet?” “All right,” I said. “Very good.” “No, seriously, are you wet?” “First-rate,” I told him. “A victory for uncertainty, randomness and chaos. Science’s finest hour.” “Be sarcastic.” “The sophists and the hairsplitters enjoy their finest hour.”
• To feel my way, reinhabit my body, re-enter the world. Sweat trickled down my ribs.
• “Because we’re suffering from brain fade. We need an occasional catastrophe to break up the incessant bombardment of information.” “It’s obvious,” Lasher said. A slight man with a taut face and slicked-back hair.
• Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we need them, we depend on them. As