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Thomas Pynchon Quotes - Page 5

All Quotes Children Earth Paranoia War
My mother is the war,' declares Roger Mexico, leaning over to open the door.

My mother is the war,' declares Roger Mexico, leaning over to open the door.

Thomas Pynchon
Mother, War, Doors
Thomas Pynchon (2012). “Gravity's Rainbow”, p.33, Penguin

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
Grief, Support, Faults
Letter to Jules Siegel, Cavalier magazine, August 1965.

Like so many named places in California it was less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts--census tracts, special purpose bond-issue districts, shopping nuclei, all overlaid with access roads to its own freeway.

Thomas Pynchon
Cities, Shopping, California
Thomas Pynchon (2012). “The Crying of Lot 49”, p.10, Penguin

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
Morning, War, Pirate
Thomas Pynchon (2012). “Gravity's Rainbow”, p.12, Penguin

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, Numbers, Towers
Thomas Pynchon (2012). “The Crying of Lot 49”, p.9, Penguin

"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
Islands, White, Brain
"V". Book by Thomas Pynchon, 1961.

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