Philip K. Dick, fully Philip Kindred Dick

Philip K.
Dick, fully Philip Kindred Dick

American Science Fiction Novelist, Short Story Writer, Essayist and Philosopher, Eleven popular films based on his works have been produced, including Blade Runner, Total Recall, A Scanner Darkly, Minority Report, Paycheck, Next, Screamers, The Adjustment Bureau and Impostor

Author Quotes

In this particular lifestyle the motto is Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying, but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory.

It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity.

It's easy for you people here; you live a safe, purposeless life, nothing to do, nothing to worry about.

Let me sleep, he said, and shut the door; it clicked in her face and she felt animal terror - this was what she feared most in life: the clicking shut of a man's door in her face. Instantly, she raised her hand to knock, discovered the rock... she banged on the door with the rock, but not loudly, just enough to let him know how desperate she was to get back in, but not enough to bother him if he didn't want to answer. He didn't. No sound, no movement of the door. Nothing but the void. Tony? she gasped, pressing her ear to the door. Silence. Okay, she said numbly; clutching her rock she walked unsteadily across the porch toward her own living quarters. The rock vanished. Her hand felt nothing. Damn, she said, not knowing how to react. Where had it gone? Into air. But then it must have been an illusion, she realized. He put me in a hypnotic state and made me believe. I should have known it wasn't really true. A million stars burst into wheels of light, blistering, cold light, that drenched her. It came from behind and she felt the great weight of it crash into her. Tony, she said, and fell into the waiting void. She thought nothing; she felt nothing. She saw only, saw the void as it absorbed her, waiting below and beneath her as she plummeted down the many miles. On her hands and knees she died. Alone on the porch. Still clutching for what did not exist.

Man and the true God are identical ? as the Logos and the true God are ? but a lunatic blind creator and his screwed-up world separate man from God. That the blind creator sincerely imagines that he is the true God only reveals the extent of his occlusion. This is Gnosticism. In Gnosticism, man belongs with God against the world and the creator of the world (both of which are crazy, whether they realize it or not). The answer to Fat?s question, "Is the universe irrational, and is it irrational because an irrational mind governs it?" receives the answer, via Dr. Stone, "Yes it is, the universe is irrational; the mind governing it is irrational; but above them lies another God, the true God, and He is not irrational; in addition that true God has outwitted the powers of this world, ventured here to help us, and we know Him as the Logos," which, according to Fat, is living information.

Metabolism, he reflected, is a burning process, an active furnace. When it ceases to function, life is over. They must be wrong about hell, he said to himself. Hell is cold; everything there is cold. The body means weight and heat; now weight is a force which I am succumbing to, and heat, my heat, is slipping away. And, unless I become reborn, it will never return. This is the destiny of the universe. So at least I won?t be alone.

No one today remembered why the war had come about or who, if anyone, had won. The dust which had contaminated most of the planet's surface had originated in no country, and no one, even the wartime enemy, had planned on it.

Once they notice you, Jason realized, they never completely close the file. You can never get back your anonymity. It is vital not to be noticed in the first place.

Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or you are becoming sane, finally. Waking up.

Send that, he told her. Sign it, et cetera. Work the sentences, if you wish, so that they will mean something. As she started from the office he added, Or so that they mean nothing. Whichever you prefer.

So books are real to me, too; they link me not just with other minds but with the vision of other minds, what those minds understand and see. I see their worlds as well as I see my own.

Strange how a persecutory delusion able from time to time to meet, however briefly, the reality.

That's what it means to die, to not be able to stop looking at whatever's in front of you. Some darn thing placed directly there, with nothing you can do about it...

The electric things have their life too. Paltry as those lives are.

The living, he thought, should never be used to serve the purposes of the dead. But the dead?he glanced at Bruce, the empty shape beside him ? should, if possible, serve the purposes of the living. That, he reasoned, is the law of life. And the dead, if they could feel, might feel better doing so. The dead, Mike thought, who can still see, even if they can't understand: they are our camera.

The painting showed a hairless, oppressed creature with a head like an inverted pear, its hands clapped in horror to its ears, its mouth open in a vast, soundless scream. Twisted ripples of the creature's torment, echoes of its cry, flooded out into the air surrounding it; the man or woman, whichever it was, had become contained by its own howl. It had covered its ears against its own sound. The creature stood on a bridge and no one else was present; the creature screamed in isolation. Cut off by - or despite - its outcry.

The true measure of a man is not his intelligence or how high he rises in this freak establishment. No, the true measure of a man is this: how quickly can he respond to the needs of others and how much of himself he can give.

There is a line somewhere in Wozzeck that translates out to, roughly, 'The world is awful.' Yes, I said to myself as I shot across the Bay Bridge not giving a fuck how fast I drove, that sums it up. That is high art: 'The world is awful.' That says it all. This is what we pay composers and painters and the great writers to do: tell us this; from figuring this out, they earn a living. What a masterful, incisive insight. What penetrating intelligence. A rat in a drain ditch could tell you the same thing, were it able to talk. If rats could talk, I'd do anything they said.

I am life,? the girl said. ?What?? he said, startled. ?To you, I am life. What are you, thirty-eight? Forty? What have you learned? Have you done anything? Look at me, look. I?m life and when you?re done with me, some of it rubs off on you. You don?t feel so old now, do you? With me here in the squib beside you.? Nick said, ?I?m thirty-four and I don?t feel old. As a matter of fact, sitting here with you makes me feel older, not younger. Nothing is rubbing off.? ?It will,? she said.

I dreamed: I am the fish whose flesh is eaten, and because I am fat, it is good.

I mean, knowing people, people are terrified of the unknown and they want to just kill the unknown.

I use this as a paradigm for our whole attitude toward life, what you did was you worked very hard, you try to understand and try to direct these complicated, powerful forces and at the very end of the struggle you've made no progress at all. That upon discovering that, you've raised to a lofty moral height, and you've accepted your fate, and somehow went on.

If it is good science fiction the idea is new, it is stimulating, and, probably most important of all, it sets off a chain reaction of ramification ideas in the mind of the reader; it so to speak unlocks the reader's mind so that that mind, like the author's, begins to create. Thus science fiction is creative and it inspires creativity.

In actuality, it time you stopped believing, Most fade away.

In Washington and Moscow they are saying, 'Man has finally come of age; he doesn't need paternalistic help.' Which is another way of saying, 'We have abolished that help, and in its place we will rule,' offering no help at all: taking but not giving, ruling but not obeying, telling but not listening, taking life and not giving it. The slayers govern now, without interference; the dreams of mankind have become empty.

First Name
Philip K.
Last Name
Dick, fully Philip Kindred Dick
Birth Date
Death Date

American Science Fiction Novelist, Short Story Writer, Essayist and Philosopher, Eleven popular films based on his works have been produced, including Blade Runner, Total Recall, A Scanner Darkly, Minority Report, Paycheck, Next, Screamers, The Adjustment Bureau and Impostor