Philip K. Dick Quotes
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The time, then, had come for him to poison himself so that an economic monopoly could be kept alive, a sprawling, interplan empire from which he now derived nothing.
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I feel the hot winds of karma driving me. Nevertheless I remain here. My training was correct: I must not shrink from the clear white light, for if I do, I will once more re-enter the cycle of birth and death, never knowing freedom, never obtaining release. The veil of maya will fall once more.
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If you are wise, Matson said to himself grimly, you never take one-way trips. Anywhere. Even to Boise, Idaho...even across the street. Be certain, when you start, that you can scramble back.
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But an artist, he realized. Or rather so-called artist. Bohemian. That’s closer to it. The artistic life without the talent.
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'You don't go by odds. You know what's coming. You've seen the cards already.' She studied his face intently. 'No, you can't be cold-decked. It wouldn't be possible.'
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Are we to assist it in gaining power in order to save our lives? Is that the paradox of our earthly situation?
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(Hawthorne Abendsen) told us about our own world. This, what's around us now. He wants us to see it for what it is. And I do, and more so each moment.
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Whom the gods notice they destroy. Be small...and you will escape the jealousy of the great.
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You saw something you were not supposed to see - something few elements have been aware of, let alone witnessed.
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I am basically analytical, not creative; my writing is simply a creative way of handling analysis.
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The merest presence of life, even the smallest possible quantity of volition, desire and intent was enough to reverse the process by which the eternal landscape of hell made itself known.
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People have told me that everything about me, every facet of my life, psyche, experiences, dreams, and fears, are laid out explicitly in my writing, that from the corpus of my work I can be absolutely and precisely inferred. This is true.
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She could kill him easily. But the lash-tube wavered. Cris Johnson stood without fear; he wasn't at all afraid. Why not? Didn't he understand what it was? What the small metal tube could do to him? 'Of course,' she said suddenly, in a choked whisper. 'You can see ahead. You know I'm not going to kill you. Or you wouldn't have come here.'
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I saw Substance D growing. I saw death rising from the earth, from the ground itself, in one blue field, in stubbled color.
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God is either powerless, stupid or he doesn't give a shit.
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Hands in his pockets he began to walk aimlessly down the sidewalk runnel. And, each minute, feeling more and more scared and desperate. Everything was falling apart around him. And he seemed helpless to halt the collapse; he could only witness it, completely impotent, snatched up and gripped by processes too powerful for him to understand.
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This is why I love SF. I love to read it; I love to write it. The SF writer sees not just possibilities but wild possibilities. It's not just 'What if...' It's 'My God; what if...' In frenzy and hysteria.
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We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui.
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It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
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Dilemma of a civilized man; body mobilized but danger obscure.
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It’s a downer to tell anything to a kid. I once had a kid ask me, 'What was it like to see the first automobile?' Shit, man, I was born in 1962.
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I, for one, bet on science as helping us. I have yet to see how it fundamentally endangers us, even with the H-bomb lurking about. Science has given us more lives than it has taken; we must remember that.
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In all possible universes, Monday was the same.
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If you can get them to see the world as you do, they will think as you do.