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.
THOMAS PYNCHONIf they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
-
-
A screaming comes across the sky.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one’s enemy only when his back is turned?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Shall I project a world?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
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 -
Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
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.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Why should things be easy to understand?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
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 -
What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
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.
THOMAS PYNCHON