A screaming comes across the sky.
THOMAS PYNCHONWhat 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.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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The general public has long been divided into two parts; those who think that science can do anything and those who are afraid it will.
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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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You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
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He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.
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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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Let me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.
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A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.
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For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
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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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It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.
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Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
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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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Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
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Why should things be easy to understand?
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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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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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All variables are independent.
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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.
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Shall I project a world?
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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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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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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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Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
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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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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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Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
THOMAS PYNCHON