I love you$$$' Rachael said. 'If I entered a room and found a sofa covered with your hide I'd score very high on the Voigt-Kampff test.'

You mean old books?<br>"Stories written before space travel but about space travel."<br>"How could there have been stories about space travel before --"<br>"The writers$$$" Pris said$$$ "made it up."

Guilt -- if there was any guilt -- spread out and diffused itself over everybody and everything. . . . Perhaps at some point in time$$$ at some spot in the world$$$ a moment of responsibility existed.

But at least he can still see the lights below us. Although maybe for him it doesn't matter.

Future and past blurred; what he had already experienced and what he would eventually experience blended so that nothing remained but the moment.

In this dark world where he now dwelt$$$ ugly things and surprising things and once in a long while a tiny wondrous thing spilled out at him constantly; he could count on nothing.

I did not tell Fat this$$$ but technically he had become a Buddha. It did not seem to me like a good idea to let him know. After all$$$ if you are a Buddha you should be able to figure it out for yourself.

Damn her he said to himself. What good does it do my risking my life? She doesn't care whether we own an ostrich or not. Nothing penetrates.

Once a guy stood all day shaking bugs from his hair.

Tomorrow morning$$$ he decided$$$ I'll begin clearing away the sand of fifty thousand centuries for my first vegetable garden. That's the initial step.