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 PYNCHONThrough the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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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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Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.
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.
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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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If the world offered nothing, nowhere to support or make bearable whatever her private grief was, then it is that world, and not she, that is at fault.
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For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
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Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
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Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.
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They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.
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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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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 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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It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.
THOMAS PYNCHON