Life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane.
THOMAS PYNCHONThe reality is in this head. Mine. I’m the projector at the planetarium, all the closed little universe visible in the circle of that stage is coming out of my mouth, eyes, and sometimes other orifices also.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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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?
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Why should things be easy to understand?
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Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.
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Shall I project a world?
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It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.
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Some of us are afraid of dying; others of human loneliness. Profane was afraid of land or seascapes like this, where nothing else lived but himself.
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What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one’s enemy only when his back is turned?
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It is simply wrong to begin with a theme, symbol or other abstract unifying agent, and then try to force characters and events to conform to it.
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Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.
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Length is usually intensity. Not time.
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Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
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What, I should only trust good people? Man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense.
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Someday she might replace whatever of her had gone away by some prosthetic device, a dress of a certain color, a phrase in a letter, another lover.
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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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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.
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Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.
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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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If the world offered nothing, nowhere to support or make bearable whatever her private grief was, then it is that world, and not she, that is at fault.
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Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
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Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
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Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
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My belief is that “recluse” is a code word generated by journalists; meaning, “doesn’t like to talk to reporters.”
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Information. What’s wrong with dope and women? Is it any wonder the world’s gone insane, with information come to be the only real medium of exchange?
THOMAS PYNCHON