Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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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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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Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.
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Why should things be easy to understand?
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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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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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Teamwork,” Koteks snarled, “is one word for it, yeah. What it really is is a way to avoid responsibility. It’s a symptom of the gutlessness of the whole society.
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She 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.
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He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.
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For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
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Length is usually intensity. Not time.
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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 investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
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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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Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.
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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.
THOMAS PYNCHON