It's magnificent, but it's not the war {attributed to a French observing the charge of the light

PAVLOVIA {BEGUINE} It was spring in Pavlovia-a-a, I was lost, in a maze . . . Lysol breezes perfumed the air, I'd been searching for days. I found you, in a cul-de-sac, As bewildered as I- We touched...

Proverbs for Paranoids, 2: The innocence of the creatures is in inverse proportion to the immorality of the Master.

Proverbs for Paranoids, 4: You hide, they seek.

Roger's heart grows erect, and comes. That's really how it feels. Up sharply to skin level in a V around his centerline, washing over his nipples... it is love, it is amazing.

young man. Meet me at my place. Glück. So

She is prey to interior winds he never felt.

Leunagasolin, such as, oh, the Moss Creature here, brightest

The Man has a branch office in each of our brains, his corporate emblem is a white albatross, each local rep has a cover known as the Ego, and their mission in this world is Bad Shit.

Will Postwar be nothing but events, newly created one moment to the next? No links? Is it the end of history?

Death has come in the pantry door: stands watching them, iron and patient, with a look that says try to tickle me. •

He is a messenger from Slothrop's innocent, pre-octopus past.

We drank the blood of our enemies. That's why you see Gnostics so hunted. The sacrament of the Eucharist is really drinking the blood of the enemy. The Grail, the Sangraal, is the bloody vehicle. Why...

Why will the Structure allow every other kind of sexual behavior but that one? Because submission and dominance are resources it needs for its very survival. They cannot be wasted in private sex. In...

He sees her standing at the end of a passage in her life, without any next step to take-all her bets are in, she has only the tedium now of being knocked from one room to the next, a sequence of...

The moment of assassination is the moment when power and the ignorance of power come together, with Death as validator.

The big scandal around IG Farben this week is the unlucky subsidiary Spottbilligfilm AG, whose entire management are about to be purged for sending to OKW weapons procurement a design proposal for a...

Slothrop, who believes that women, like Martians, have antennas men do not, keeps an eye on her.

His life had been tied to the past. He'd seen himself a point on a moving wavefront, propagating through sterile history-a known past, a projectable future. But Jessica was the breaking of the wave....

Morning developed out the window. His right canine ached. He unreeled the long hair, beaded with saliva, tooth-tartar, mouth-breather's morning fur, and stared at it. How'd it get here? Eerie, dearie.

Slothrop's Progress: London the secular city instructs him: turn any corner and he can find himself inside a parable.

Got a hardon in my fist,Don't be pissed,Re-enlist--Snap--to, Slothrop!Jackson, I don't give a fuck,Just give me my "ruptured duck!"Snap--to, Slothrop!No one here can love or comprehend me,They just...

It's beautiful, but it's not war

Fuck you, whispers Slothrop. It's the only spell he knows, and a pretty good all-purpose one at that.

Destiny awaits, a darkness latent in the texture of the summer wind. Destiny will betray you, crush your ideals, deliver you into the same detestable Bürgerlichkeit as our father, sucking at his pipe...

It is the dark, hard, tobacco-starved, headachey, sour-stomached, middle of the day, a million bureaucrats are diligently plotting death and some of them know it, many about now are already onto the...

Sometimes things aren't very clear, that's all. Things look like they're going against us, and though it always turns out fine in the end, and we can always look back and say oh of course it had to...

. . . {S}uppose we considered the war itself as a ?

Decisions are never really made-at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all-round assholery.

Together they are a long skin interface, flowing sweat, close as muscles and bones can press, hardly a word beyond her name, or his.