A psychotic world we live in. The madmen are in power. How long have we known this? Faced this?-And-how many of us do know it? Not Lotze. Perhaps if … - Philip K. Dick

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A psychotic world we live in. The madmen are in power. How long have we known this? Faced this?-And-how many of us do know it? Not Lotze. Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or you are becoming sane, finally. Waking up. I suppose only a few are aware of all this. Isolated persons here and there. But the broad masses...what do they think? All these hundreds of thousands in this city, here. Do they imagine that they live in a sane world? Or do they guess, glimpse the truth...?

But, he thought, what does it mean, insane? A legal definition. What do I mean? I feel it, see it, but what is it?

He thought, it is something they do, something they are. It is their unconsciousness. Their lack of knowledge about others. Their not being aware of what they do to others, the destruction they have caused and are causing. No, he thought. That isn't it. I don't know; I sense it, inuit it. But-they are purposely cruel...is that it? No. God, he thought, I can't find it, make it clear. Do they ignore parts of reality? Yes. But it is more. It is their plans. Yes, their plans. The conquering of the planets. Something frenzied and demented, as was their conquering of Africa, and before that, Europe and Asia.

Their view; it is cosmic. Not of man here, a child there, but an abstraction: race, land. Volk. Land. Blut. Ehre. Not of honorable men but of Ehre itself, honor; the abstract is real, the actual is invisible to them. Die Gute, but not good men, this good man. It is their sense of space and time. 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 the granite and methane; the wheel turns for all life. It is all temporary. And they-these madmen-respond to t

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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

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
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Am I racially kin to this man? Baynes wondered. So closely so that for all intents and purposes it is the same? Then it is in me, too, the psychotic streak. A psychotic world we live in. The madmen are in power. How long have we known this? Faced this? And — how many of us do know it?

Additional quotes by Philip K. Dick

We're all dreaming,” Arctor said. If the last to know he's an addict is the addict, then maybe the last to know when a man means what he says is the man himself, he reflected. He wondered how much of the garbage that Donna had overheard he had seriously meant. He wondered how much of the insanity of the day — his insanity — had been real, or just induced as a contact lunacy, by the situation. Donna, always, was a pivot point of reality for him; for her this was the basic, natural question. He wished he could answer.

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"You know what you can buy at the supermarket?" Laws inquired acidly. "I’ll tell you. Canned burnt offerings." "You know what you can buy at the hardware store?" Hamilton answered. "Scales to weigh your soul on." "That’s silly," the blond said petulantly. "A soul doesn’t have any weight." "Then," Hamilton reflected, "you could put one through the U. S. mail for nothing." "How many souls," Laws conjectured ironically, "can be fitted into one stamped envelope? New religious question. Split mankind in half. Warring factions. Blood running in the gutters." "Ten," Hamilton guessed. "Fourteen," Laws contradicted. "Heretic. Baby-murdering monster." "Bestial drinker of unpurified blood." "Accursed spawn of filth-devouring evil."

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