Darkness invades the dreams of the glassblower. Of all the unpleasantries his dreams grab in out of the night air, an extinguished light is the worst. Light in his dreams, was always hope: the basic, moral hope. As the contacts break helically away, hope turns to darkness, and the glassblower wakes sharply tonight crying, "Who? Who?"
Thomas PynchonInformation. What's wrong with dope and women? Is it any wonder the world's gone insane, with information come to be the only real medium of exchange?
Thomas PynchonYou know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another worldโs intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch thereโs cataclysm.
Thomas PynchonBut a few choosing to venture deeper into the painful corridors of their affliction, found after a while that they could now grind and polish ever more exotic surfaces, hyperboloidial and even stranger, eventually including what we must term โimaginaryโ shapes (which some preferred to term invisible).
Thomas Pynchon