The merest presence of life, even the smallest possible quantity of volition, desire and intent was enough to reverse the process by which the eterna… - Philip K. Dick
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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.
English
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About
Philip K. Dick
Philip Kindred Dick (16 December 1928 – 2 March 1982) was an American writer, whose published works mainly belong to the genre of science fiction. Dick explored philosophical, sociological and political themes in novels with plots dominated by monopolistic corporations, authoritarian governments, and altered states of consciousness. In his later works, Dick's thematic focus tended to reflect his personal interest in metaphysics and theology.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Arthur Knight (photographer) (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Pen Names:
Richard Phillipps
•
Jack Dowland
Birth Name:
Philip Kindred Dick
Also Known As:Phil
Alternative Names:
PKD
•
Philip Dick
•
Richard Phillips
•
Filip K. Dik
"I think," Dr. Stone said, "that when you tried to kill yourself you got in touch with reality for the first time."
Fear can make you do more wrong than hate or jealousy. If you’re afraid you don’t commit yourself to life completely; fear makes you always, always hold something back. You shouldn’t be alone. It’s killing you; it’s undermining you. All the time, every day, you should be somewhere with people.
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In one dim scene he saw himself lying charred and dead; he had tried to run through the line, out the exit. But that scene was vague. One wavering, indistinct still out of many. The inflexible path along which he moved would not deviate in that direction. It would not turn him that way. The golden figure in that scene, the miniature doll in that room, was only distantly related to him. It was himself, but a far-away self. A self he would never meet. He forgot it and went on to examine the other tableau. The myriad of tableaux that surrounded him were an elaborate maze, a web which he now considered bit by bit. He was looking down into a doll's house of infinite rooms, rooms without number, each with its furniture, its dolls, all rigid and unmoving.
