Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
THOMAS PYNCHONIf 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?
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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She thougt of sunrise over the library slope at Cornell University that nobody out on it had seen because the slope faces west.
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Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.
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All variables are independent.
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Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
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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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If there is something comforting – religious, if you want – about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.
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It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.
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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.
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Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.
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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?
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He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.
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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.
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Can’t say it often enough — change your hair, change your life.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.
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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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Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.
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Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
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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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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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All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
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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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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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Shall I project a world?
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But with a sigh he had released her hand, while she was so lost in the fantasy that she hadn’t felt it go away, as if he’d known the best moment to let go.
THOMAS PYNCHON