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Philip K. Dick

Philip K. Dick Quotes

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Famous Philip K. Dick Quotes

“I'm working on a sequel to MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE called VALISYSTEM A, which is an acronym for "Vast Active Living Intelligence System" A. It is based on modern discoveries about the right hemisphere of the brain and on AI (artificial intelligence) systems and orthomolecular psychiatry (the use of water soluble vitamins). I tried out the vitamin formula plus attempts to cause neural firing in my right hemisphere back in mid-March, with spectacular results—I believe a letter of mine about this will be published in France in a magazine which they described as being like our Rolling Stone rock magazine, with a circulation of about 20,000. I've had over four months of enormously heightened neural efficiency and firing, producing a total change in my personality and abilities and habits.”

ValisMan In The High Castle
Book:The Selected Letters, 1974
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“I am a fictionalizing philosopher, not a novelist; my novel & story-writing ability is employed as a means to formulate my perception. The core of my writing is not art but truth…. I think I understand the common ingredient in those whom my writing helps: they cannot or will not blunt their own intimations about the irrational, mysterious nature of reality, &, for them, my corpus of writing is one long ratiocination regarding this inexplicable reality, an investigation & presentation, analysis & response & personal history…. What I have done is extraordinarily valuable, if you can endure the strain of not knowing, & knowing you do not know….Someone must come along & play the role of Plato to my Socrates.”

PhilosophyScience FictionPhilip K DickValis
Book:In Pursuit of VALIS: Selections from the Exegesis
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“And yet, as of this March, with the sudden bombardment of the nonobjective graphics, perhaps I have once again regained contract with the authentic future; for example, the work I'm engaged in now is a sequel to MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE, at last—I've wanted to do that for 12 years, but never come up with an idea good enough. Based on my experiences from March of this year on, I believe I have indeed, finally, come up with an idea good enough, and am deep into it. I feel that the external creative force which I've discussed throughout this letter, whatever its source, whatever its nature, has inspired me as I have never been inspired before. More important to me than what it is, what it's called, is the quality of its inspiration to me and the effect on my writing. Well, from these experiences over the past three months, I do have a terrific idea, I think the best of my life, and in no way will it be anything you can read about in the present day newspaper. Perhaps what has happened is nothing more or less than a sudden return of the old force of creativity which animated me in years past and novels past, before the tragic years after my wife Nancy became mentally ill and left forever with my little daughter, and I fell into despair and inactivity, and didn't write for three years. Whatever it is, God bless it, and I am grateful for it.”

InspirationWriter S BlockValisMan In The High Castle
Book:The Selected Letters, 1974
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“Another reason why I've been slow to answer is that I've been working on something I've tried to get behind for 12 years: a sequel to MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE. Maybe I should keep you posted about it; possibly it will be the best thing (so to speak) that I've done or will do. Working title is: VALISYSTEM A. That's an acronym for "Vast Active Living Intelligence System" A. I have a 7-page letter on the subject addressed to Peter Fitting, one of the Marxist writers; if I can get it together to get a Xerox, I'll send it to you. Bear with me, please, because I am lazy & disorganized. But brilliant (you knew that).”

ValisMan In The High Castle
Book:The Selected Letters, 1974
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“Sherri Solvig had had cancer, lymphatic cancer, but due to valiant efforts by her doctors she had gone into remission. However, encoded in the memory-tapes of her brain was the datum that patients with lymphoma who go into remission usually eventually lose their remission. They aren’t cured; the ailment has somehow mysteriously passed from a palpable state into a sort of metaphysical state, a limbo. It is there but it is not there. So despite her current good health, Sherri (her mind told her) contained a ticking clock, and when the clock chimed she would die. Nothing could be done about it, except the frantic promotion of a second remission. But even if a second remission were obtained, that remission, too, by the same logic, the same inexorable process, would end. Time had Sherri in its absolute power. Time contained one outcome for her: terminal cancer. This is how her mind had factored the situation out; it had come to this conclusion, and no matter how good she felt or what she had going for her in her life, this fact remained a constant. A cancer patient in remission, then, represents a stepped-up case of the status of all humans; eventually you are going to die.”

DeathDepressionCancerInevitabilityLymphoma
Book:Valis
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“While I'm writing you I might mention the new novel I'm considering writing; it has to do with the phonograph record business, which I was involved with, at the retail end, for over seven years. I guess I'll make it a S-F novel, though, setting it in the future. My memory tapes (so to speak) have few if any gaps in them about my years in the record business, what with the rip-offs and payola. The small profits for the retailer, the huge chains that are wholesalers-retailers who crowd out the little guy. Provisionally, I will call the record company DOGSHIT RECORDS INC. (Or DRI, as they have now EMI, RCA, MCA, etc.) In my head I've blocked out the tory of an android who has an agent who is another android, but neither knows the other is an invader. (There is a sort of mutual surprise ending, but the main thing is to lay forth the inner workings of an industry for our readership, in a novel of the sort I tend to write and they tend to read.) The musical artist's agent is named (are you ready?) Skim Morewithit, and so forth. There are rip-offs of royalties, two sets of books, all the usual stuff you find today and yesterday in the record business. As to locale, I haven't decided. Maybe on Jupiter, because it will be a (ahem) heavy novel.”

Unfinished WorkStory Ideas
Book:The Selected Letters, 1974
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“Anyhow, I've begun on the story we discussed. I will not refer specifically to what you said, but I've decided that it will have as its author Hawthorne Abendsen, the novelist in my novel MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE who wrote THE GRASSHOPPER LIES HEAVY. I wrote & wrote . . . after all, I wrote my 4th novel EYE IN THE SKY in two weeks, so this merely shows I'm in love with what I'm doing. The title of Abendsen's yarn is, "A Man For No Countries," because he is unwanted in the USA where the Asshole Axis rule, and certainly not in Europe where Germany rules from . . . I did bio notes, the uncorrected carbons of which I'm enclosing; they were improved in a second draft, and can/will be cut as needed. And, as to the story, I finished the holographic first draft last night about the time our tomcat Pinky wants indoors to be fed, which is quite late, and at which time nothing, even Pinky, gets me out of bed. It is a short story, but I think a lot of it, Phil. I really do, and when I turn out a lousy one I usually know it and the other way around. I'll send you a carbon of the final, not of the rough, since the rough is in holo. Now, a technical problem. To whom do I send the yarn when I'm done? By contract, it must be to Scott Meredith; that is determined by law. But my own name must be on it, on the far left upper corner, not under the title, so he can see who sent it, and hence pay me. That is, receive pay. Who does pay, by the way? Ed Ferman or whoever buys it (if anyone)? Does it just go onto the market like all stories, OR—and this is crucial, maybe—should I mention to Scott Meredith that you should be involved . . . without mentioning certain details held in confidence between us? How do I handle it? I will sell it, in any case; I wrote MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE in 1961 and ever since "they" have begged (well, asked me) to do more as a sequel. This story is in fact a follow-up, of Abendsen's life since, besides being an intrinsic plot-idea-theme story. So it'll sell, and Ed Ferman does like my stuff; he has commissioned a set of three stories from me, the last three I have done, including one for FINAL STATE or EDGE or whatever with Malzberg, and so would tend to want to buy it. So advise me, as I type up the final. And thanks for getting my literary ass in gear; God bless, Phil. [The story was never completed or published.]”

Unfinished WorkMan In The High CastleLost Work
Book:The Selected Letters, 1974
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“And we're cheerful, too. You can count on that.' Obligingly she smiled in a neighbourly way at him. 'It will be a relief to leave Earth with its repressive legislation. We were listening OH the FM to the news about the McPhearson Act.' 'We consider it dreadful,' the adult male said. 'I have to agree with you,' Chic said. 'But what can one do?' He looked around for the mail; as always it was lost somewhere in the mass of clutter. 'One can emigrate,' the adult male simulacrum pointed out. 'Um,' Chic said absently. He had found an unexpected heap of recent-looking bills from parts suppliers; with a feeling of gloom and even terror he began to bills from parts suppliers; with a feeling of gloom and even terror he began to sort through them. Had Maury seen these? Probably. Seen them and then pushed them away immediately, out of sight. Frauenzimmer Associates functioned better if it was not reminded of such facts of life. Like a regressed neurotic, it had to hide several aspects of reality from its percept system in order to function at all. This was hardly ideal, but what really was the alternative? To be realistic would be to give up, to die. Illusion, of an infantile nature was essential for the tiny firm's survival, or at least so it seemed to him and Maury. In any case both of them had adopted this attitude. Their simulacra -- the adult ones -- disapproved of this; their cold, logical appraisal of reality stood in sharp contrast, and Chic always felt a little naked, a little embarrassed, before the simulacra; he knew he should set a better example for them. 'If you bought a jalopy and emigrated to Mars,' the adult male said, 'We could be the famnexdo for you.' 'I wouldn't need any family next-door,' Chic said, 'if I emigrated to Mars. I'd go to get away from people. 'We'd make a very good family next-door to you,' the female said. 'Look,' Chic said, 'you don't have to lecture me about your virtues. I know more than you do yourselves.' And for good reason. Their presumption, their earnest sincerity, amused but also irked him. As next-door neighbours this group of sims would be something of a nuisance, he reflected. Still, that was what emigrants wanted, in fact needed, out in the sparsely-populated colonial regions. He could appreciate that; after all, it was Frauenzimmer Associates' business to understand. A man, when he emigrated, could buy neighbours, buy the simulated presence of life, the sound and motion of human activity -- or at least its ​mechanical nearsubstitute to bolster his morale in the new environment of unfamiliar stimuli and perhaps, god forbid, no stimuli at all. And in addition to this primary psychological gain there was a practical secondary advantage as well. The famnexdo group of simulacra developed the parcel of land, tilled it and planted it, irrigated it, made it fertile, highly productive. And the yield went to the it, irrigated it, made it fertile, highly productive. And the yield went to the human settler because the famnexdo group, legally speaking, occupied the peripheral portions of his land. The famnexdo were actually not next-door at all; they were part of their owner's entourage. Communication with them was in essence a circular dialogue with oneself; the famnexdo, it they were functioning properly, picked up the covert hopes and dreams of the settler and detailed them back in an articulated fashion. Therapeutically, this was helpful, although from a cultural standpoint it was a trifle sterile.”

SimulationSimulacrums
Book:The Simulacra
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“E se eu lhe enviasse telegrama? Ou uma carta registada; sem qualquer assinatura, com as palavras feitas a partir de recortes de jornais. «Não posso», compreendeu então; «nunca o poderei fazer. Lamento muito, Louis Runcible; os laços são demasiadamente fortes. As ligações são demasiadamente longas, apertadas. Interiorizei-as e agora agem como se fossem parte de mim; vivem aqui bem dentro de mim. Para toda a vida. Agora e para sempre. » Caminhou sem pressa, sentindo como que uma membrana de torpor a acompanhá-lo, pairando por sobre si enquanto avançava pelo corredor afastando-se da cabine. De volta ao seu escritório. Como se nada tivesse acontecido. E nada acontecera. Era a pura e límpida verdade: nada, mesmo nada. Portanto, a coisa avançaria sozinha. Forças que ele não compreendia, substâncias mais remotas, escapando, quais borboletas, à sua percepção; sombras que cruzavam o céu da sua vida sem deixarem rasto, sem deixarem qualquer sensação; sentia-se cego, receoso e impotente. E mesmo assim continuava a avançar. Pois era natural. E pensado para si não havia mais nada a se fazer. E à medida que ele ia caminhando, aquilo também se movia. Se agitou; ele sentia-o avançar. Avançando de um modo inexorável, em linha reta.”

SombrasCartas São Uma Perda De TempoLabirinto Subterranêo
Book:The Penultimate Truth
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“Amanda Werner and several other beautiful, elegant, conically breasted foreign ladies, from unspecified vaguely defined countries, plus a few bucolic co-called humorists, comprised Buster's perpetual core of repeats. Women like Amanda Werner never made movies, never appeared in plays; they lived out their queer, beautiful lives as guests on Buster's unending show, appearing, Isidore had once calculated, as much as seventy hours a week.”

TelevisionPopular CultureCelebritiesCelebrity CultureTelevision Personality
Author:Philip K. Dick
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“Havia uma aura em torno de Coelho, uma aura de sofrimento. O rosto, o corpo pareciam tomados pelo sofrimento. Sim, ela pensou, é isso que transparece em seu olhar. A lembrança de mágoa muito antiga, mas ainda não esquecida — e jamais seria. Fora concebido, colocado no planeta, para sofrer; não admira ser ele um grande comediante. Para Coelho, a comédia era uma luta, uma batalha contra a realidade da dor física literal; consistia em reação de força descomunal — e eficaz.”

SofrimentoEntretenimentoComédiaClube Da Luta
Book:Clans of the Alphane Moon
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“Porém, ainda ficava muito do autêntico Brose, pois o cérebro não era artificial; não existia tal coisa; manufaturar um cérebro artificial ― fazer tal coisa quando ainda existia a firme Arti-Gan Corporation, de Phoenix, bem antes da guerra ― seria entrar no que Adams gostava de chamar em pensamento «um autêntico caso de simulação»… que era o termo que utilizava para aquilo que considerava como sendo a mais elevada e mais nova entidade aparecida no panorama da Natureza, com as suas já tão multiformes decorrências: o universo dos autênticos embustes. E esse universo, pensava ele ainda, em que se pensava poder entrar pela porta de ENTRADA, atravessar e depois sair pela porta de SAÍDA, em, digamos grosseiramente, dois minutos… esse universo, tal como os cenários nos estúdios moscovitas de Eisenbludt, era interminável, sala atrás de sala; a porta de SAÍDA de uma era apenas a porta de entrada da seguinte.”

Inteligencia ArtificialSimulaçãoSimulacros
Book:The Penultimate Truth
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“Già suo padre, prima di lui, era stato un guaritore di vasi. E così anche lui guariva vasi, e a dire il vero qualsiasi manufatto di ceramica risalente ai Vecchi Tempi, prima della guerra, quando ancora non tutti gli oggetti erano fatti di plastica. Un vaso di ceramica era una cosa meravigliosa, e ogni vaso che guariva diventava un oggetto che amava, e che non dimenticava mai; la forma, la consistenza della ceramica e lo smalto, restava tutto con lui, per sempre. Quasi nessuno, tuttavia, aveva bisogno del suo lavoro, dei suoi servizi. Ormai rimanevano pochissimi manufatti di ceramica, e chi li possedeva faceva molta attenzione a che non si rompessero. Sono Joe Fernwright, si disse. Sono il miglior guaritore di vasi al mondo. Io, Joe Fernwright, sono diverso da tutti gli altri uomini.”

IncipitVasoCeramica
Book:Galactic Pot-Healer
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“He had broken a union ruling which was a basic law. In his opinion it was a foolish ruling, but nonetheless . . . vengeance is mine, sayeth the Extraterrestrial Repairmen’s Union, Martian Branch. Wow, how he hated the bastards; his hatred had warped his life and he recognized that—and he did nothing about it: he wanted it to warp him. He wanted to keep on hating them, the vast monolithic structure, wherever it existed. They had caught him for giving socialized repair.”

Fuck The PoliceHatred Is My Muse
Book:Martian Time-Slip
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“«Tenho medo de Lantano», compreendeu então. «Lantano sabe demais, dispunha de demasiados pormenores sobre a vida de Verne Lindblom e sobre a sua morte. Mas receio, também, Stanton Brose; tenho medo dos dois. Quer do conhecido, que é representado por Brose, quer do desconhecido, que é representado por Lantano. No entanto, no que me diz respeito, Lantano recorda-me mais o profundo e envolvente nevoeiro que me sugou toda a fibra de vida… e só Deus sabe como Brose tem sido horroroso. O seu projeto especial foi o cúmulo da perfídia e do cinismo, ao que se acrescentara a velha maldade já senil, a sinistra simbiose de embuste, maldade e prepotência, tudo envolvido numa aura de autossatisfação medonha. » E compreendeu que com Brose só podia piorar.”

PoderMalEstupidezDemênciaEscleroseSenilidade
Book:The Penultimate Truth
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“— Tenho uma resposta. A liderança nesta sociedade naturalmente recairia sobre os paranoicos, sendo eles superiores em termos de iniciativa e inteligência, além das habilidades comuns inatas. Evidentemente, eles enfrentariam dificuldades para evitar que os maníacos dessem um golpe… a tensão perduraria indefinidamente entre os dois grupos. Mas veja bem, com os paranoicos estabelecendo a ideologia, a base emocional dominante seria o ódio. Na verdade, ódio em dois níveis: a liderança detestaria cada um que estivesse fora de seu grupo e estabeleceria como ponto pacífico que todos os odiavam em resposta. Portanto, a chamada política externa consistiria em estabelecer mecanismos através dos quais pudessem combater este suposto ódio em relação a eles. Este processo envolveria toda a sociedade em uma luta ilusória, em uma batalha contra adversários inexistentes em busca de uma vitória sobre o nada. — Por que este esquema é tão ruim? — Porque, não importa como tenha começado, os resultados seriam os mesmos — Mary foi taxativa — isolamento total para essa gente. Este seria, em última análise, o efeito da atividade global desses grupos: cortá-los progressivamente das demais entidades viventes. — É assim tão negativo? A auto-suficiência… — Não — fez Mary — Isto não seria auto-suficiência, seria alguma coisa completamente diferente, algo que nem eu nem você conseguimos imaginar. Lembra-se das antigas experiências feitas com pessoas em isolamento absoluto? Em meados do século vinte, quando eles previram a viagem ao espaço, a possibilidade de um homem ficar sozinho durante vários dias, semanas sem fim, com cada vez menos estimulação… lembra-se dos resultados obtidos quando eles colocavam um homem em uma câmara sem que quaisquer estímulos o alcançassem? — Claro — fez Mageboom — É o que atualmente denominamos the buggies. O resultado da falta de estimulação é a alucinação aguda. Ela assentiu: — Alucinação auditiva, visual, táctil e olfativa, em substituição a estimulação ausente. Em intensidade, a alucinação é capaz de exceder a força da realidade; com sua intensidade e impacto, o efeito obtido… Por exemplo, estados de terror. Alucinações induzidas por drogas podem deflagrar sentimentos de terror que nenhuma experiência no mundo real pode produzir. — Por quê? — Porque a qualidade dessas alucinações é muito superior. Elas foram geradas no interior do sistema receptor dos sentidos e realimentam-se de emanações provenientes não de um ponto distante mas do interior do próprio sistema nervos de uma pessoa. Ela não consegue afastar-se. Não é possível qualquer retirada.”

DelirioSimulaçãoIsolamento
Book:Clans of the Alphane Moon
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“Hentman observava-o. Em seguida, deu de ombros e começou a desdobrar o contrato — Olhe aqui. Veja quanto você vai ganhar —Brandiu o contrato com o charuto na mesma mão — Esta cambada de espiões pode te pagar o mesmo? Fazer a América rir é um ato de patriotismo; ajuda a levantar o moral e a derrotar os comunas. Na verdade, é mais patriótico do que você está fazendo; esses simulacros são umas engenhocas frias; eles me dão nojo.”

PatriotismoSimulaçãoSimulacro
Book:Clans of the Alphane Moon
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“Entretanto, por meio do vídeo discutia coisas do serviço com o seu sócio da Agência, Veme Lindblom. Veme, que não era um homem de ideias, que não era um manipulador de palavras, mas antes um artista no sentido visual do termo, estava numa posição melhor do que Joseph Adams para saber exatamente o que é que o seu superior Emest Eisenbludt, em Moscou, estava a pensar em termos de imagem, em suma, o que preparava no estúdio. — A seguir será São Francisco ― disse Lindblom. ― Estou neste momento na fase de construção. Em que escala? ― inquiriu Adams. ― Sem escala. ― Em tamanho natural? ― disse Adams, incrédulo. ― E Brose concordou? Não será mais um dos loucos devaneios de Eisenbludt? Só uma parte da cidade. Nob Hill e a vista sobre a baía. Deve levar cerca de um mês a construir; não há pressas. Que diabo, só ontem à noite é que passaram aquelas sequências de Detroit [destruída]. ― Lindblom parecia descontraído. O que, de resto, a sua situação de habilidoso maquetista lhe permitia amplamente. Os homens das ideias eram muito poucos, mas os construtores maquetistas… eram de fato uma seita muito fechada, que nem sequer Brose com todos os seus agentes conseguia penetrar. Eram como os antigos construtores dos vitrais na França do século XIII: que desaparecerem, e com eles o segredo de sua arte.”

SimulaçãoMídiaIndustria Cinematográfica
Book:The Penultimate Truth
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“The subjective response... when a Philip Dick book has been finished and put aside is that, upon reflection, it does not seem so much that one holds a memory of the story; rather, it is the after effects of a poem rich in metaphor that seem to remain. This I value, partly because it does defy a full mapping, but mainly because that which is left of a Phil Dick story when the details have been forgotten is a thing which comes to me at odd times and offers me a feeling or a thought; therefore, a thing which leaves me richer for having known it. - Roger Zelazny in his introduction to Beyond Lies the Wub”

Science FictionIntroductionPhilip K DickRoger ZelaznyBeyond Lies The Wub
Book:The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick 1: The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford
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“Aimer un esprit, voilà le véritable martyre. Le désespoir incarné. Le nom de Donna ne serait imprimé sur aucune page, il n'apparaîtrait nulle part dans les annales de l'humanité. Disparue sans laisser d'adresse. Il y a des filles comme ça, et c'est celles-là qu'on aime le plus, celles qui ne permettent pas d'espérer, car elles vous échappent alors même que vous refermer vos bras autour d'elles.”

QuotesQuoteCitationsAimerPhilip K DickA Scanner DarklySubstance Mort
Book:A Scanner Darkly
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“Imagine un peu : tu es conscient, mais pas vivant. Tu vois et même tu comprends, mais tu ne vis pas. Tu as le nez collé au carreau. Tu reconnais les choses, mais ça ne fait pas de toi un vivant. On peut mourir et durer encore. Parfois, ce qui t'observe derrière les yeux de quelqu'un est mort dans l'enfance. C'est mort et c'est là, et ça regarde toujours. Ce n'est pas simplement le corps, sans rien dedans, qui te regarde ; non, il y a encore quelque chose à l'intérieur qui est mort depuis longtemps mais continue à regarder au-dehors, et regarde et regarde encore sans pouvoir s'arrêter.”

QuotesQuoteMortCitationsPhilip K DickA Scanner DarklySubstance Mort
Book:A Scanner Darkly
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“The first thing they do to you when you go into New-Path," Charles Freck said, "is they cut off your pecker. As an object lesson. And then they fan out in all directions from there." "Your spleen next," Barris said. "They what, they cut -- What does that do, a spleen?" "Helps you digest your food." "How?" "By removing the cellulose from it." "Then I guess after that --" "Just noncellulose foods. No leaves or alfalfa." "How long can you live that way?" Barris said, "It depends on your attitude." "How many spleens does the average person have?" He knew there usually were two kidneys. "Depends on his weight and age." "Why?" Charles Freck felt keen suspicion. "A person grows more spleens over the years. By the time he's eighty --" "You're shitting me.”

SpleenAlfalfaBarrisCelulose
Book:A Scanner Darkly
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“We're all dreaming,” Arctor said. If the last to know he's an addict is the addict, then maybe the last to know when a man means what he says is the man himself, he reflected. He wondered how much of the garbage that Donna had overheard he had seriously meant. He wondered how much of the insanity of the day--his insanity--had been real, or just induced as a contact lunacy, by the situation. Donna, always, was a pivot point of reality for him; for her this was the basic, natural question. He wished he could answer.”

RealityDreamsInsanityDrugsDreamingAddict
Book:A Scanner Darkly
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“So we and our elaborately evolving computers may meet each other halfway. Someday a human being, named perhaps Fred White, may shoot a robot named Pete Something-or-other, which has come out of a General Electric factory, and to his surprise see it weep and bleed. And the dying robot may shoot back and, to its surprise, see a wisp of gray smoke arise from the electric pump that it supposed was Mr. White's beating heart. It would be rather a great moment of truth for both of them.”

HumansHeartMayMomentsWould BeHuman BeingsWhiteDyingComputerSurpriseAriseSmokeEvolveSomedayGrayFactoriesElectricRobotsHalfwayPumpsGreat MomentsWispsMoment Of TruthGeneral Electric
Book:The Shifting Realities of Philip K. Dick: Selected Literary and Philosophical Writings
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