K. A. Bedford Quotes

The bloody future," Spider muttered. "What's it ever done for us?

He felt a trickle of cold fear in the depths of his belly, a dread that he was going to get his wish.

Maybe he was crazy, he thought. It would explain everything. Insanity was good that way.

He swore, pissed off, trying to keep the past in the past instead of stinking up the present.

So what is this Final Secret? Any Ideas?" Spider asked, trying to sound reasonable.
"We don't know. We just don't know. All we know is what the Vores have communicated to us so far."
"Right," Spider said, nodding, hating every moment of this nonsense. "And when you say 'we' and 'us', what you really mean is 'you', yes?"
"They communicate through a living channel, yes, and that is, of course, me.

The coffee, when he tried it, was strong almost to the point of being unbearable, but not quite. In short, it was divine.

The future was not what it used to be.

And in that moment, Spider noticed a strange thing. He found to his surprise that he did not dislike Mr. Patel. Which, obviously, was a long way from liking the man, but who knew? Maybe that would come in time.

“Spider, please, sit. I will explain everything.”
“You’ll explain everything. Fine. Great!” Spider said, but inside, in his mind, he was thinking, Bag and cat have now parted company.

When Dickhead was a little kid, he had this, hmm, 'religious experience', I suppose you'd call it. For all we know his little wee brain might just have had a stroke or some damn thing. Upshot, though, was he thought an actual angel appeared before him, and told him all kinds of neat but apocalyptic stuff about the universe, about God's decision to start over, and that only the very few, the Chosen, could be part of it, and thus find out about the Final Secret of the Cosmos."
"But that's bullshit, surely.

“But that...” Spider paused, “is a fine piece of movie magic.” From a time when movies were magic, the last days of the old Hollywood studio system. These days if a film called for a prop like that, it would most likely be rendered digitally; if it had to exist in the real world at all, it could be whomped up in a 3D printer, sintered from various powders, fused together with lasers—and utterly disposable, like most of the films that came along these days. Nobody would preserve such a thing; nobody would see the point in keeping and restoring such props. It was a sad thing, at least for people Spider’s age, who remembered better times.

Spider!" Mr. Patel said, coming up to him, taking his hand, pumping it hard. "You're a hard man to find!"
"Evidently not hard enough.

He’d lived with a mad sculptress for long enough that he knew (believed, really) that much of what passed for art these days was bullshit, all naked emperors and nobody commenting on it. In any case, as soon as he registered, “ah, sculpture”, he lost interest and looked away.

Spider had to keep that firmly in his mind. It was a lesson he had learned on the job: things are not always as they seem. Sometimes, even most times, they are far stranger than you’d imagine, and most likely more perverse than you’d care to consider.

It was hard to just sit and relax. Everyone he saw somehow looked suspicious, especially all those people who appeared perfectly innocuous: nobody who looked that innocuous could be anything but guilty, Spider thought.