Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
THOMAS PYNCHONSomeday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
THOMAS PYNCHONIdle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
THOMAS PYNCHONLove with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.
THOMAS PYNCHONPerhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
THOMAS PYNCHONLength is usually intensity. Not time.
THOMAS PYNCHONIlls are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter 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 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONAll 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.
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.
THOMAS PYNCHONEverybody 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONSomeday 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONFor every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross.
THOMAS PYNCHONThe 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 PYNCHONBut 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.
THOMAS PYNCHONTime is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.
THOMAS PYNCHON