741 Quotes by Philip K. Dick

All we know is that things happen. More accurately, God is the urging-forward force within all things, and all things (if “things” can be spoken of at all) are alive. The ontological matrix is a way in which His urging or thinking is manifested; so in that respect I think it’s not time which moves forward, carrying us with it like a great tide, but that we are driven forward all of us together, animate and inanimate.

They see through the here, the now, into the vast black deep beyond, the unchanging. And that is fatal to life. Because eventually there will be no life; there was once only the dust particles in space, the hot hydrogen gases, nothing more, and it will come again. This is an interval, ein Augenblick. The cosmic process is hurrying on, crushing life back into granite and methane; the wheel turns for all life. It is all temporary.

My father told me what it used to feel like, waiting in the dentist's office. Every time the nurse opened the door you thought, It's happening. The thing I've been afraid of all my life.

... qué poco sano era sentir la ausencia de vida, no solo en esta casa sino en todas partes, y no reaccionar ... Antes eso era una señal de enfermedad mental. La llamaban ...

— Já salvei muitas vidas — Joan ergueu a mão— Você pode me dar um cigarro?Ele lhe ofereceu um, acendendo-o, sentindo-se, como sempre, culpado pelo esquecimento.— O que você faz? — inquiriu Joan.Relutante, não porque fosse confidencial, mas sim porque o trabalho conferia um status inferior na escala da consideração pública, descreveu sua função na CIA. Joan Trieste ouviu com atenção.

You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity.

Each of us assumes everyone else knows what HE is doing. They all assume we know what WE are doing. We don't...Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.

I even gave up, for a while, stopping by the window of the room to look out at the lights and deep, illuminated streets. That's a form of dying, that losing contact with the city like that.

He could see the tall, peeling yellow building at the periphery of his range of vision. But something about it struck him as strange. A shimmer, an unsteadiness, as if the building faded forward into stability and then retreated into insubstantial uncertainty. An oscillation, each phase lasting a few seconds and then blurring off into its opposite, a fairly regular variability as if an organic pulsation underlay the structure. As if, he thought, it's alive.