Seemed to me a phone was an impersonal instrument. If it like it, it let your personality go through its wires. If it didn't to, it just drained your personality away until what slipped through at the other end was some cold fish of a voice, all steel, copper, plastic, no warmth, no reality. It's easy to say the wrong thing on telephones; the telephone changes your meaning on you. First thing you know, you've made an enemy. Then, of course, the telephone's such a thing; it just sits there and you call someone who doesn't want to be called. Friends were always calling, calling, calling me. Hell, I hadn't any time of my own.
( Ray Bradbury )
[ Twice 22: The Golden Apples of ]
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