“The Saint whose water can light lamps, the clairvoyant whose lapse in recall is the breath of God, the true paranoid for whom all is organized in spheres joyful or threatening about the central pulse of himself, the dreamer whose puns probe ancient fetid shafts and tunnels of truth all act in the same special relevance to the word, or whatever it is the word is there, buffering, to protect us from. The act of metaphor than was a thrust at truth and a lie, depending where you were: inside, safe or outside, lost.” LightLyingLostWaterSpecialProtectSafeBreathsAncientSaintMetaphorOrganizedDreamerSpheresJoyfulRecallsThreateningLampsRelevancePulseThrustTunnelsParanoidPunLapsesClairvoyant Author:Thomas Pynchon
“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.” WarLostWishSidesMorningSolitudeHundredWindowBlindHungerStrangerMilesGutsBreakfastThickSunlightPirateBananasMeshWallowingPlenitude Book:Gravity's Rainbow Source: Gravity's Rainbow
“She touched the edge of its voluptuous field, knowing it would be lovely beyond dreams simply to submit to it; that not gravity's pull, laws of ballistics, feral ravening, promised more delight. She tested it, shivering: I am meant to remember. Each clue that comes is supposed to have its own clarity, its fine chances for permanence. But then she wondered if the gemlike "clues" were only some kind of compensation. To make up for her having lost the direct, epileptic Word, the cry that might abolish the night.” IfsKindDreamMightWould BeRememberLawNightLostChanceKnowingCryFieldsFineDirectEdgesDelightLovelyClarityTouchedGravitySubmitClueTestedCompensationAbolishPermanenceVoluptuousEpilepticsBallistics Book:The Crying of Lot 49 Source: The Crying of Lot 49
“But with a sigh he had released her hand, while she was so lost in the fantasy that she hadn't felt it go away, as if he'd known the best moment to let go.” IfsMomentsHandsLostFeltKnownFantasyLetting GoGoing AwaySighBest Moments Book:The Crying of Lot 49 Source: The Crying of Lot 49
“I dream that I have found us both again, With spring so many strangers' lives away, And we, so free, Out walking by the sea, With someone else's paper words to say.... They took us at the gates of green return, Too lost by then to stop, and ask them why- Do children meet again? Does any trace remain, Along the superhighways of July?” ChildrenDoeDreamAsksFoundLostSeaReturnWalkingPaperSpringGreenStrangerGatesJuly Author:Thomas Pynchon
