Andreea

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Blindsight
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by Peter Watts (Goodreads Author)
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Jan 17, 2026 03:08AM

 
Parable of the Sower
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Dec 06, 2024 06:43AM

 
See all 14 books that Andreea is reading…
Book cover for How to See the World (Pelican Books)
A visual culture is the relation between what is visible and the names that we give to what is seen. It also involves what is invisible or kept out of sight. In short, we don’t simply see what there is to see and call it a visual culture. ...more
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Vladimir Nabokov
“How can I explain to you, my happiness, my golden wonderful happiness, how much I am all yours — with all my memories, poems, outbursts, inner whirlwinds? Or explain that I cannot write a word without hearing how you will pronounce it — and can’t recall a single trifle I’ve lived through without regret — so sharp! — that we haven’t lived through it together — whether it’s the most, the most personal, intransmissible — or only some sunset or other at the bend of a road — you see what I mean, my happiness?

And I know: I can’t tell you anything in words — and when I do on the phone then it comes out completely wrong. Because with you one needs to talk wonderfully, the way we talk with people long gone… in terms of purity and lightness and spiritual precision… You can be bruised by an ugly diminutive — because you are so absolutely resonant — like seawater, my lovely.

I swear — and the inkblot has nothing to do with it — I swear by all that’s dear to me, all I believe in — I swear that I have never loved before as I love you, — with such tenderness — to the point of tears — and with such a sense of radiance.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

“Shoddy construction and inadvertent errors, intimidation and actual deception—these are part and parcel of industrial life. No industry is without these problems, just as no valve can be made failure-proof. Normally, the consequences are not catastrophic. They may be, however, if you build systems with catastrophic potential.”
Charles Perrow, Normal Accidents: Living with High-Risk Technologies

Sally Rooney
“She believes Marianne lacks ‘warmth’, by which she means the ability to beg for love from people who hate her.”
Sally Rooney, Normal People

Vladimir Nabokov
“My delightful, my love, my life, I don’t understand anything: how can you not be with me? I’m so infinitely used to you that I now feel myself lost and empty: without you, my soul. You turn my life into something light, amazing, rainbowed—you put a glint of happiness on everything—always different: sometimes you can be smoky-pink, downy, sometimes dark, winged—and I don’t know when I love your eyes more—when they are open or shut. It’s eleven p.m. now: I’m trying with all the force of my soul to see you through space; my thoughts plead for a heavenly visa to Berlin via air . . . My sweet excitement . . .

Today I can’t write about anything except my longing for you. I’m gloomy and fearful: silly thoughts are swarming—that you’ll stumble as you jump out of a carriage in the underground, or that someone will bump into you in the street . . . I don’t know how I’ll survive the week.

My tenderness, my happiness, what words can I write for you? How strange that although my life’s work is moving a pen over paper, I don’t know how to tell you how I love, how I desire you. Such agitation—and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in sunshine—mounds of happiness. And I am floating with you, in you, aflame and melting—and a whole life with you is like the movement of clouds, their airy, quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of outline and tint—my inexplicable love. I cannot express these cirrus-cumulus sensations.

When you and I were at the cemetery last time, I felt it so piercingly and clearly: you know it all, you know what will happen after death—you know it absolutely simply and calmly—as a bird knows that, fluttering from a branch, it will fly and not fall down . . . And that’s why I am so happy with you, my lovely, my little one. And here’s more: you and I are so special; the miracles we know, no one knows, and no one loves the way we love.

What are you doing now? For some reason I think you’re in the study: you’ve got up, walked to the door, you are pulling the door wings together and pausing for a moment—waiting to see if they’ll move apart again. I’m tired, I’m terribly tired, good night, my joy. Tomorrow I’ll write you about all kinds of everyday things. My love.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

Horia-Roman Patapievici
“Să nu dăm deci vina pe politicieni: răul începe cu noi, cei care distrugem natura, murdărim străzile, facem irespirabile blocurile, transformăm în haznale spațiile publice și ne umilim cu sete și sadism semenii. Răul începe de la scara blocului.”
Horia-Roman Patapievici, Anii urii

52853 Romania — 4843 members — last activity Jan 14, 2026 11:34PM
Grupul Romania, deschis tuturor celor de nationalitate romana, rudelor si prietenilor acestora, indiferent de unde sunt, locuiesc, traiesc prin lume. ...more
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