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.
More Quotes from Thomas Pynchon:It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
As if the dead really do persist, even in a bottle of wine.
Hey, over here! Have your picture taken with a reclusive author! Today only, we'll throw in a free autograph! But wait, there's more!
Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.
But as with Maxwell's Demon, so now. Either she could not communicate, or he did not exist.
No language meant no chance of co-opting them in to what their round and flaxen invaders were calling Salvation.
Readers Who Like This Quotation Also Like:Based on Topics: Morning Quotes, Solitude Quotes, War & Peace Quotes
Based on Keywords: buttresses, gazes, meshes, palatals, plenitude, possessively, refectory, wallowing
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