“Oedipa sat on the earth, ass getting cold, wondering whether, as Driblette had suggested that night from the shower, some version of herself hadn’t vanished with him. Perhaps her mind would go on flexing psychic muscles that no longer existed;… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share Image
“How strange tonight, this city. As if something trembled below its surface, waiting to burst through.” — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“It was one of those great iron afternoons in London: the yellow sun being teased apart by a thoasand chimneys breathing, fawning upward without… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“Surely for as long as there have been nights as bad as this one---something to raise the possibility of another night that could actually,… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“People read what news they wanted to and each accordingly built his own rathouse of history's rags and straws.” — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“Out of that night and day of unconditional wrath, folks would've expected to see any city, if it survived, all newly reborn, purified by… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“As spread thighs are to the libertine...so was the letter V to young Stencil.” — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“Oedipa wondered whether, at the end of this (if it were supposed to end), she too might not be left with only compiled memories… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers. — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“remember didn't you sneak away from camp to have a moment alone with What you felt stirring across the land . . . it… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“Through rain...then through dreaming glass, green with the evening. And herself in chair, old-fashioned, bonneted, looking west over the deck of Earth, inferno red… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“She knew instinctively: he will be fine as the fraternity boy just out of an Ivy League school who knows he will never stop… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
“Listen to anything and take it apart again. Spectrum analysis, in my head. I can break down chords, and timbres, and words too into… — Thomas Pynchon Copy Share
