Best 18 quotes of Tade Thompson on MyQuotes

A washing machine repairman dying of laryngeal cancer had only one recurring thought: There is no excuse for making an angel cry.

Ebun becomes completely conceptual in the xenosphere. She is an idea from infancy, the non-verbal stage. There are no words with which to understand her form, and there is no image. We are aware of her presence, but it is extremely abstract. The idea is her own, from her own early life. Even she does not fully understand it, but she can pull it out of lost memories and use it. She is safe. It is an elegant solution which I wish I had thought of.

...even the Gujarat-bot dreams of electric sheep.

I can read minds but I still don't understand women. Or men. Humans. I don't understand humans.

I can’t,’ I say. Her mind closes like a shutter, with finality. I wish, at that moment, that I had said something else.

I let go of the tenuous control I had and scream into the void. Without lungs you can scream forever, and I do.

It is a certainty, not just a conviction, the way believing in God is a conviction, but believing in gravity is a certainty.

Maybe humankind was meant to be sick from time to time. Maybe there is something to be learned from illness.

Oyin Da’s mind is as elegant as a French horn, thoughts moving in whorls and evoking fresh mint leaves.

The idea of a singular hero and a manifest destiny just makes us lazy. There is no destiny. There is choice, there is action, and any other narrative perpetuates a myth that someone else out there will fix our problems with a magic sword and a blessing from the gods.

The Machinery are a bunch of fuckwits who believe that the human body is best conceptualised as a machine, and that if behaviour is stripped down to only what is functional, a higher form of humanity will emerge. This means actions that lead to the fulfilment of their basic needs only. Disease is a malfunction. You can see where this goes. They’re boring as hell, they only speak to convey information and they are more inflexible than actual machines. They are said to be good spouses and accountants. The one beside me has a distinct self-image, fully identified as a machine. He repeats to himself mentally, ‘You are a machine, you are a machine.

The Yoruba say ‘o d’oju ala’ when someone dies. I will see you in dreams.

This is a psychofield, a thoughtspace, essentially unstable. While most people conceptualise thinking as this straightforward linear thing, I see ideas spreading out into alternatives before one is selected. In this place every notion can potentially become reality.

We are all part machine, Kaaro. Your phone is a polymer under the skin of your hand. You have a locator chip in your head.

We read classics to flood the xenosphere with irrelevant words and thoughts, a firewall of knowledge that even makes its way to the subconscious of the customer.

What’s a quantum extrapolator?’ I ask. ‘You are,

What we call the xenosphere, the psychic link that you are all able to exploit, is made up of strands of alien fungi-like filaments and neurotransmitters. We call the xenoform ascomycetes xenosphericus. It is everywhere, in every environment on Earth. These delicate filaments are too small for the naked eye to see, and they are fragile, but they form multiple links with the natural fungi on human skin. They have an affinity for nerve endings and quickly access the central nervous system. Everybody linked to this network of xenoforms, this xenosphere is uploading information constantly, passively, without knowing. There is a global store of information in the very atmosphere, a worldmind, which only people like you can access.

You are not a sensitive and will never experience this, but raw data surges, blunt data with errors which are slowly refined like the process of chiselling out a sculpture from a block of marble.