Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
THOMAS PYNCHONLet the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
THOMAS PYNCHONSome 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONLike 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 PYNCHONAll investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
THOMAS PYNCHONAll 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 PYNCHONShe thougt of sunrise over the library slope at Cornell University that nobody out on it had seen because the slope faces west.
THOMAS PYNCHONBehind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.
THOMAS PYNCHONTime is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
THOMAS PYNCHONEvery weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.
THOMAS PYNCHONShe may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’ but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.
THOMAS PYNCHONAll variables are independent.
THOMAS PYNCHONWhat are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
THOMAS PYNCHONIt takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.
THOMAS PYNCHONWhy should things be easy to understand?
THOMAS PYNCHONReal flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.
THOMAS PYNCHONThey plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.
THOMAS PYNCHON