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Book: The Intuitionist
Quotes of Book: The Intuitionist

Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
eccentric" being a word, Lila Mae notes dryly, that white people use to describe crazy white people of stature},
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
the buttons of his dark blue uniform allude to an ongoing border dispute with his soft belly.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
A slow hour passed, distracted by intermittent drops of moisture from above, as if the sky were conducting a feasibility study on the implications of rain. Of committing to a course of action.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
Every Tuesday, James Fulton {and later, Orville Lever} stood in the downstairs drawing room and lectured on the intricacies of his science. Lectured on the implications of European maintenance deviations on Intuitionism, expounded on the gloom of the shaft and how it does not merely echo the gloom inside every living creature, but duplicates it perfectly. Afterwards there were mint juleps for everyone . . .
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
Rumors have flourished in worse soil than this.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
The publicity of the present day causes that no sooner is a discovery or an invention made than it is already improved upon and surpassed by competing efforts.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
An elevator doesn't exist without its freight. If there's no one to get on, the elevator remains in quiescence. The elevator and the passenger need each other.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
Dressed, she's in front of the mirror. Armed. She puts her face on. In her case, not a matter of cosmetics, but will. How to make such a sad face hard? It took practice. Not in front of a mirror or in front of strangers, gauging her success by their expressions of horror, disgust, etc. She did it by lying in her bed, feeling and testing which muscles in her face pained under application of concerted tension. To choose the most extreme pain would be to make a fright mask. A caricature of strength. She achieved calibration one night while testing a small muscle attached to her upper lip hitting upon a register of pain a few inches below the high-tide mark of real pain. This register of discomfort became the standard for all the muscles in her face, above the eyebrows under the jaw, across the nostrils. She didn't check with the small mirror in the janitor's closet, didn't need to. She knew she'd hit it.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
You have to stand up real close to the posters to see the swirls, and even then they're easy to miss: Lila Mae had to have Jimmy point them out to her. Horns, boiling cysts, the occasional cussword inked in across Chancre's slat teeth-they add up after a while, somehow more personal and meaningful than the usual cartoons and pinups of office homesteading.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
He is fat and pink. On the United Elevator Co. advertisements, they airbrush away the pocks in his cheeks, the red slivers in his nose. In person he is too flesh, a handful of raw meat. Dogs have been known to follow him, optimistic.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
At ninety, everything is air and the difference between you and the medium of your passage is disintegrating with every increment of the ascension.
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Colson Whitehead _ The Intuitionist
She has always considered herself an atheist, not realizing she had a religion.
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