My belief is that “recluse” is a code word generated by journalists; meaning, “doesn’t like to talk to reporters.”
THOMAS PYNCHONIf 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?
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.
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The general public has long been divided into two parts; those who think that science can do anything and those who are afraid it will.
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You know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another world’s intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch there’s cataclysm.
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There is no real direction here, neither lines of power nor cooperation. Decisions are never really made – at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all around assholery.
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Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.
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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.
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There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.
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All variables are independent.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
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Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.
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Can’t say it often enough — change your hair, change your life.
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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.
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A screaming comes across the sky.
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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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All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
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You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
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Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
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The 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.
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Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.
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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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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.
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If there is something comforting – religious, if you want – about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.
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If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
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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.
THOMAS PYNCHON