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. Thomas Pynchon More Quotes by Thomas Pynchon More Quotes From Thomas Pynchon "You are so close." "To whom? Margravine, not even to himself. This place, this island: all his life he's done nothing but hop from island to island. Is that a reason? Does there have to be a reason? Shall he tell you: he works for no Whitehall, non conceivable unless, ha, ha, the network of white halls in his own brain: these featureless corridors he keeps swept and correct for occasional visiting agents." Thomas Pynchon white islands brain For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross Thomas Pynchon vampire kind crosses Our history is an aggregate of last moments Thomas Pynchon arriving lasts moments Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page. Thomas Pynchon pages cute character She thougt of sunrise over the library slope at Cornell University that nobody out on it had seen because the slope faces west. Thomas Pynchon library sunrise west Everybody who says the same words is the same person if the spectra are the same only they happen differently in time, you dig? But the time is arbitrary. You pick your zero point anywhere you want, that way you can shuffle each person's time line sideways till they all coincide. Thomas Pynchon arbitrary lines zero 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. Thomas Pynchon going-away letting-go hands He gazes through sunlight's buttresses, back down the refectory at the others, wallowing in their plenitude of bananas, thick palatals of their hunger lost somewhere in the stretch of morning between them and himself. A hundred miles of it, so suddenly. Solitude, even among the meshes of this war, can when it wishes so take him by the blind gut and touch, as now, possessively. Pirate's again some other side of a window, watching strangers eat breakfast. Thomas Pynchon pirate morning war 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? Thomas Pynchon dope insane real A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to. Thomas Pynchon two-sides half two If America was a person, and it sat down, Lancaster town would be plunged into a Darkness unbreathable. Thomas Pynchon towns darkness america 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. Thomas Pynchon dream men boys Some typewriters in Whitehall, in the Pentagon, killed more civilians than our little A4 could have ever hoped to. Thomas Pynchon pentagon typewriters littles A number of frail girls... prisoners in the top room of a circular tower, embroidering a kind of tapestry which spilled out the slit windows and into a void, seeking hopelessly to fill the void: for all the other buildings and creatures, all the waves, ships and forests of the earth were contained in this tapestry, and the tapestry was the world. Thomas Pynchon girl towers numbers Right and left; the hothouse and the street. The Right can only live and work hermetically, in the hothouse of the past, while outside the Left prosecute their affairs in the streets manipulated by mob violence. And cannot live but in the dreamscape of the future. Thomas Pynchon affair violence past Can't say it often enough — change your hair, change your life. Thomas Pynchon changing-your-life enough hair This spiritualist, this statistician, what are you anyway? Thomas Pynchon statistician 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 gone-away color dresses But a few choosing to venture deeper into the painful corridors of their affliction, found after a while that they could now grind and polish ever more exotic surfaces, hyperboloidial and even stranger, eventually including what we must term ‘imaginary’ shapes (which some preferred to term invisible). Thomas Pynchon exotic affliction shapes 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. Thomas Pynchon intrusion miracle world
