The Man in the High Castle (Penguin Modern Classics)

And then he thought about Africa, and the Nazi experiment there. And his blood stopped in his veins, hesitated, at last went

I am a mask, concealing the real. Behind me, hidden, actuality goes on, safe from prying eyes. Odd, he thought. Vital sometimes to be merely cardboard front, like carton.

Occasions the interplay of the two primal forces so that there is always renewal.

Why choose? If all alternatives are the same … Evidently we go on, as we always have. From day to day.

it all was somehow grander, more in the old spirit than the actual world. The world of German hegemony.

all connected in this moment of casting the yarrow stalks to select the exact wisdom appropriate in a book begun in the thirtieth century B.C.

Death at each moment, one avenue which is open to us at any point. And eventually we choose it, in spite of ourselves. Or we give up and take it deliberately.

No contemporary American art; only the past could be represented here, in a store such as his.

Random, and yet rooted in the moment in which he lived, in which his life was bound up with all other lives and particles in the universe.