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"okay i'm almost home and i genuinely cannot continue rn lest i burst into fits of anger inside a silly little amtrak" — Aug 16, 2025 12:11PM
"okay i'm almost home and i genuinely cannot continue rn lest i burst into fits of anger inside a silly little amtrak" — Aug 16, 2025 12:11PM
“I remember you.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“It’s hard to accept what you don’t want to see.”
― Babel
― Babel
“You didn’t come.”
“You didn’t call.”
She looks down at their tangled hands. “Tell me, Luc,” she says. “Was any of it real?”
“What is real to you, Adeline? Since my love counts for nothing?”
“You are not capable of love.”
He scowls, his eyes flashing emerald. “Because I am not human? Because I do not wither and die?”
“No,” she says, drawing back her hand. “You are not capable of love because you cannot understand what it is to care for someone else more than yourself. If you loved me, you would have let me go by now.”
Luc flicks his fingers. “What nonsense,” he says. “It is because I love you that I won’t. Love is hungry. Love is selfish.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“You didn’t call.”
She looks down at their tangled hands. “Tell me, Luc,” she says. “Was any of it real?”
“What is real to you, Adeline? Since my love counts for nothing?”
“You are not capable of love.”
He scowls, his eyes flashing emerald. “Because I am not human? Because I do not wither and die?”
“No,” she says, drawing back her hand. “You are not capable of love because you cannot understand what it is to care for someone else more than yourself. If you loved me, you would have let me go by now.”
Luc flicks his fingers. “What nonsense,” he says. “It is because I love you that I won’t. Love is hungry. Love is selfish.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And translation – a necessary endeavour, however futile, to move between them.”
― Babel
― Babel
“The poet is free to say whatever he likes, you see – he can choose from any number of linguistic tricks in the language he’s composing in. Word choice, word order, sound – they all matter, and without any one of them the whole thing falls apart. […] So the translator needs to be translator, literary critic, and poet all at once – he must read the original well enough to understand all the machinery at play, to convey its meaning with as much accuracy as possible, then rearrange the translated meaning into an aesthetically pleasing structure in the target language that, by his judgment, matches the original. The poet runs untrammelled across the meadow. The translator dances in shackles.”
― Babel
― Babel
itzel’s 2025 Year in Books
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