Like so many named places in California it was less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts–census tracts, special purpose bond-issue districts, shopping nuclei, all overlaid with access roads to its own freeway.
THOMAS PYNCHONIf they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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All variables are independent.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Why should things be easy to understand?
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What goes around may come around, but it never ends up exactly the same place, you ever notice? Like a record on a turntable, all it takes is one groove’s difference and the universe can be on into a whole ‘nother song.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
I was dreaming about my grandfather. A very old man, at least as old as I am now, 91. I thought, when I was a boy, that he had been 91 all his life. Now I feel as if I have been 91 all my life.
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All the animals, the plants, the minerals, even other kinds of men, are being broken and reassembled every day, to preserve an elite few, who are the loudest to theorize on freedom, but the least free of all.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
If patterns of ones and zeros were ‘like’ patterns of human lives and death, if everything about an individual could be represented in a computer record by a long string of ones and zeros, then what kind of creature would be represented by a long string of lives and deaths?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.
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Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.
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You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
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All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
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You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you’ve found life. I’m no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are ‘yours’ and which are ‘mine.’ It’s past sorting out.
THOMAS PYNCHON