Philip K. Dick Quotes
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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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'There’s a law,' Chuck said, 'which I call Rittersdorf’s Third Law of Diminished Returns, which states that proportional to how long you hold a job you imagine that it has progressively less and less importance in the scheme of things.'
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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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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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(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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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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You saw something you were not supposed to see - something few elements have been aware of, let alone witnessed.
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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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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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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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God is either powerless, stupid or he doesn't give a shit.
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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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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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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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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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Dilemma of a civilized man; body mobilized but danger obscure.
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It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
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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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In all possible universes, Monday was the same.
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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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You’re not just out of your body; you’re out of your mind, too.