What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
THOMAS PYNCHONGet too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
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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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Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
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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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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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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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Length is usually intensity. Not time.
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What, I should only trust good people? Man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense.
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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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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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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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Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
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Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
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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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For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
THOMAS PYNCHON