Heather

“How strange to feel something so close to mercy, whatever that was, and stranger still that it should be found in here of all places, at the end of a road of ruined houses by a toxic river. That among a pile of salvaged trash, he would come closest to all he ever wanted to be: a consciousness sitting under a light-bulb reading his days away, warm and alone, alone and yet, somehow, still somebody's son.”
― Ocean Vuong, The Emperor of Gladness

“Asher said, "Does it really ever go anywhere?"
"Does what?"
"Love. Does it vanish?"
Yale looked at his own hand, resting on the dashboard to keep himself steady whenever Asher braked suddenly. "I mean, we never want it to. But it does, doesn't it?"
Asher said, "I think that's the saddest thing in the world, the failure of love. Not hatred, but the failure of love.”
― Rebecca Makkai, The Great Believers

“It was culture as class performance, literature fetishised for its ability to take educated people on false emotional journeys, so that they might afterwards feel superior to the uneducated people whose emotional journeys they liked to read about.”
― Sally Rooney, Normal People

“Always they had been portioning out fragments of the bog’s life in exchange for fragments of their own.”
― Kay Chronister, The Bog Wife