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.
THOMAS PYNCHONIt all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
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 -
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.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Why should things be easy to understand?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.
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 -
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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Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
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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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A screaming comes across the sky.
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There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.
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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?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
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.
THOMAS PYNCHON