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 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.
More Thomas Pynchon Quotes
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Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
There is no real direction here, neither lines of power nor cooperation. Decisions are never really made – at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all around assholery.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
THOMAS PYNCHON -
A screaming comes across the sky.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
My belief is that “recluse” is a code word generated by journalists; meaning, “doesn’t like to talk to reporters.”
THOMAS PYNCHON -
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 PYNCHON -
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.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Can’t say it often enough — change your hair, change your life.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.
THOMAS PYNCHON -
What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one’s enemy only when his back is turned?
THOMAS PYNCHON