the well written - thomas pynchon

Oedipa, perverse, had stood in front of the painting and cried.
No one had noticed; she wore dark green bubble shades. For a
moment she’d wondered if the seal around her sockets were
tight enough to allow the tears simply to go on and fill up the
entire lens space and never dry. She could carry the sadness of
the moment with her that way forever, see the world refracted
through those tears, those specific tears, as if indices as yet
unfound varied in important ways from cry to cry.

- Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

By Yoda Navarrete (Lady Orlando)