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.
THOMAS PYNCHONSome of us are afraid of dying; others of human loneliness. Profane was afraid of land or seascapes like this, where nothing else lived but himself.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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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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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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Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
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They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.
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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.
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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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Let me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
I was dreaming about my grandfather. A very old man, at least as old as I am now, 91. I thought, when I was a boy, that he had been 91 all his life. Now I feel as if I have been 91 all my life.
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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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All variables are independent.
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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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If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
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There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.
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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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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.
THOMAS PYNCHON






