What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
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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All variables are independent.
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Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.
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Let me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.
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Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
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Everybody gets told to write about what they know. The trouble with many of us is that at the earlier stages of life we think we know everything- or to put it more usefully, we are often unaware of the scope and structure of our ignorance.
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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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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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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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To have humanism we must first be convinced of our humanity. As we move further into decadence this becomes more difficult.
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Length is usually intensity. Not time.
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For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
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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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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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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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There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.
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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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Real flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.
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Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
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Life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane.
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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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He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.
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Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.
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Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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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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My belief is that “recluse” is a code word generated by journalists; meaning, “doesn’t like to talk to reporters.”
THOMAS PYNCHON