Length is usually intensity. Not time.
THOMAS PYNCHONLength is usually intensity. Not time.
THOMAS PYNCHONWhat, 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONWhat are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
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.
THOMAS PYNCHONOur history is an aggregate of last moments.
THOMAS PYNCHONAll variables are independent.
THOMAS PYNCHONLet the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
THOMAS PYNCHONTime is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
THOMAS PYNCHONReal flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.
THOMAS PYNCHONYou 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 PYNCHONLet me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.
THOMAS PYNCHONTeamwork,” Koteks snarled, “is one word for it, yeah. What it really is is a way to avoid responsibility. It’s a symptom of the gutlessness of the whole society.
THOMAS PYNCHONIf 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONThere was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.
THOMAS PYNCHONPerhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
THOMAS PYNCHONThe 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.
THOMAS PYNCHON