From a letter:
“The real horror of this time period, David, is that everything now is documented. Everything. There is video evidence of me falling madly in love for the first time for anyone who knows what to look for, whole blocks of text that pledge my undying and unwavering devotion to friends that I will never willingly see again, all of these pieces of myself and my life floating out there in space that because of technology I will never be able to take back. Human memory has plugged itself into the machinery. This is the end of independent sentience. The singularity must be near, which you are aware of because you’ve RSVP’d for it on Facebook.
… But as much as I’d like to protest, there’s nothing to deny about how enchanting it is, how tempting late at night the possibility of reliving such memories whenever I want to, in high definition, with the capability of pausing or making louder the parts where my mind used to falter. In the dark, while the world sleeps, that lonely blue screen like a hole in my heart that you can look through. At exactly 2 minutes and 36 seconds, something buried in me went quiet. I took a screencap. I saved it to my favorites so that I can find it quickly.”