Quote by Thomas Pynchon

““There was nobody who could help her. Nobody in the world. They were all on something, mad, possible enemies, dead.””

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More by Thomas Pynchon

“How strange tonight, this city. As if something trembled below its surface, waiting to burst through.”

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“It was one of those great iron afternoons in London: the yellow sun being teased apart by a thoasand chimneys breathing, fawning upward without shame. This smoke is more than the day’s breath, more than dark strength--it is an imperial presence that lives and moves. People were crossing the streets and squares, going everywhere. Busses were grinding off, hundreds of…

Thomas Pynchon

“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, with love and cockcrows, light the path home, banish the Adversary, destroy the boundaries between our lands our bodies, our stories, all false, about who we are: for the one night, leaving only the clear way…

Thomas Pynchon

“Death glided by, shadowless, among the empties on the grass.”

Thomas Pynchon

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“People read what news they wanted to and each accordingly built his own rathouse of history's rags and straws.”

Thomas Pynchon

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“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 flame, taken clear beyond greed, real-estate speculating, local politics--instead of which, here was this weeping widow, some one-woman grievance committee in black, who would go on and save up and lovlingly record and mercilessly begrudge every…

Thomas Pynchon

“As spread thighs are to the libertine...so was the letter V to young Stencil.”

Thomas Pynchon

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“Oedipa wondered whether, at the end of this (if it were supposed to end), she too might not be left with only compiled memories of clues, announcements, intimations, but never the central truth itself, which must somehow each time be too bright for her memory to hold; which must always blaze out, destroying its own message irreversibly, leaving an overexposed…

Thomas Pynchon

If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers.

Thomas Pynchon

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“remember didn't you sneak away from camp to have a moment alone with What you felt stirring across the land . . . it was the equinox . . . green spring equal nights . . . canyons are opening up, at the bottoms are steaming fumaroles, steaming the tropical life there like greens in a pot, rank, dope-perfume, a…

Thomas Pynchon

“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 at its edges, and further in the brown and gold clouds... Then, suddenly, night: The empty rocking chair lit staring chalk blue by--is it the moon, or some other light in the sky? just the hard…

Thomas Pynchon