Shall I project a world?

All variables are independent.

A screaming comes across the sky.

Length is usually intensity. Not time.

Why should things be easy to understand?

Danger's over, Banana Breakfast is saved.

Our history is an aggregate of last moments

Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.

For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross

Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do.

Let me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.

[Oedipa Maas] awoke at last to find herself getting laid.

Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.

There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.

They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.

This spiritualist, this statistician, what are you anyway?

She would give them order. She would create constellations.

Someday it'll all be done by machine. Information machines.

Can't say it often enough — change your hair, change your life.

A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.

Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.

this is america, you live in it, you let it happen. let it unfurl.

Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.

Murphy's Law, that brash proletarian restatement of Godel's Theorem.

Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.

You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.

The hand of Providence creeps among the stars, giving Slothrop the finger.

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

Paranoia's the garlic in life's kitchen, right: you can never have too much.

Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.

Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.

I have this guitar on which I occasionally kill time making up rock n' roll lyrics.

Not me, paranoia's the garlic in life's kitchen, right, you can never have too much.

Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.

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

There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.

What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one's enemy only when his back is turned?

He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.

Explosion without an objective', declared Miles Blundell, 'is politics in its purest form'.

But as with Maxwell's Demon, so now. Either she could not communicate, or he did not exist.

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

Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.

Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.

'Recluse' is a code word generated by journalists... meaning, 'doesn't like to talk to reporters.'

It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.

A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.

If America was a person, and it sat down, Lancaster town would be plunged into a Darkness unbreathable.

Oh, this beer here is cold, cold and hop-bitter, no point coming up for air, gulp, till it's all--hahhhh.

Idealism is no good. Any concrete dedication to an abstract condition results in unpleasant things like wars.

What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?

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