Robin Sloan Quotes

So I guess you could say Neel owes me a few favors, except that so many favors have passed between us now that they are no longer distinguishable as individual acts, just a bright haze of loyalty. Our friendship is a nebula.

I was drunk and tired and happy. More than happy: delighted. Proud of myself — not just for making the bread, but for sharing it, and for making a few friends, even if they were all programmers and Loises. Maybe programmers and Loises are all you need.

There was more to upgrade. I went to a shop in downtown Oakland that sold salt of every kind and color, black and pink and blue. Each variety sat shimmering in a glass canister, priced by the ounce, with a handwritten card recounting its biography: here, salt from the beaches of Gujarat; there, salt from the pans of Brittany; behold, salt from the suburbs of Portland.

I backed slowly out the door. I would stick with Diamond Crystal.

Kat bought a New York Times but couldn’t figure out how to operate it, so now she’s fiddling with her phone.

Scoping myself out in my standup mirror, I turned and gently twerked.

But, of course, the point of a programming language is that you don't just read it; you write it, too. You make it do things for you. And this, I think, is where Ruby shines (...)

How do I know that? Does my brain have an app for that?

The depot was wreathed in gentle effort. It percolated.

"But it will make mistakes," she says. "Hadoop will probably get us from a hundred thousand buildings down to, like, five thousand."
"So we're down to five days instead of five years."
"Wrong!" Kat says. "Because guess what — we have ten thousand friends. It's called" — she clicks a tab triumphantly and fat yellow letters appear on the screen — "Mechanical Turk. Instead of sending jobs to computers, like Hadoop, it sends jobs to real people. Lots of them. Mostly Estonians."
She commands King Hadoop and ten thousand Estonian footmen. She is unstoppable.

The nature of immortality is a mystery,' he says, speaking so softly that we have to lean closer to hear.' But everything I know of writing and reading tells me that this is true. I have felt it in these shelves and in others.

America pays defense contractors to build aircraft carriers. Google pays brilliant programmers to do whatever the hell they want.

Of course, of course. Drugs, music, a new age dawning … and you came for an old book.

"Every day you learn something amazing," Kat says, "like there's a secret underground library in New York City" - she pauses and gapes for effect, and it makes me laugh - "and you realize there's so much more that's waiting. Eighty years isn't enough. Or a hundred. Whatever. It's just not."

"How was New York?' Ashley asks politely.
I'm not sure how to respond. Something like: Well, the mustachioed master of the secret library is going to be pissed that I copied the entirety of his ancient codebook and delivered it to Google, but at least I got to stay at a nice hotel?
Instead I say, "New York was good.

At first I had insisted I would only work at a company with a mission I believed in. Then I thought maybe it would be fine as long as I was learning something new. After that I decided it just couldn’t be evil. Now I was carefully delineating my personal definition of evil.