In the world before cyberspace, countless bridge hands were played and words spoken, and the memory vanished like vapor into the air. All that data dissolved no sooner than it was formed. Once in a while people managed to snatch a bit back from the ether, with pen on paper or, later, audio- and videotape. They succeeded in saving for posterity a tiny portion of what was worth saving: the speeches of Lincoln (the major ones), the poetry of Shakespeare (but not quite reliably), the plays of Sophocles (except the lost ones), and a few dozen terabytes more. Once it was expensive and slow to capture a visual image and preserve it for the eons. If you were a successful Dutch merchant of the seventeenth century, perhaps you could afford to hire Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn to knock off a quick portrait. Then another trail of exponentially accelerating technology: letterpress engravings on zinc, wet collodion photography, studio photography, halftones, Muybridge, Kodaks, Polaroids, eight-millimeter home movies, hand-held videocameras, ten-dollar disposable cameras available at drug stores, Internet Web cams, traffic cams, office cams, beach cams. All those photons used to scatter into the void. Now we trap them for recycling.