Oedipa wondered whether, at the end of this {if it were supposed to end}, she too might not be left with only compiled memories of clues, announcements, intimations, but never the central truth itself, which my somehow each time be too bring for her memory to hold; which must always blaze out, destroying its own message irreversibly, leaving an overexposed blank when the ordinary world came back.
( Thomas Pynchon )
[ The Crying of Lot 49 ]
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