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“At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint, or even remember it. It is enough.”
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“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”
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“There’s no dignity in this place, thinks Seda. No privacy either. Some fool is always poking his or her head into your doorway. And as if the residents and nurses aren’t bad enough, lately all kinds of people keep showing up, waving their tape recorders in her face, asking her questions about the past. Everyone is an amateur historian. They use words like witness and genocide, trying to bridge the gap between her past and their own present with words. She wants nothing to do with it. But the other residents have fallen under a confessional spell. They’re like ancient tea bags steeping in the murky waters of the past, repeating their stories over and over again to anyone who will listen. Who can blame them? Driven from their homes not by soldiers this time, but by their own loved ones, to this place so cleverly labeled “home,” a second exile. In some ways, Seda thinks it’s worse than the first: to the lexicon of horrific memories is added the immense shame of surviving, of living when so many others did not. Yet they all bask in their rediscovered relevance. But all the words in every human language on earth would not be enough to describe what”
― Orhan's Inheritance
― Orhan's Inheritance
“The self,” Blackmore writes, “is just a fleeting impression that arises with each experience and fades away again. . . . There is no inner self,” she argues, “only multiple parallel processes that give rise to a benign inner delusion—a useful fiction.” She argues that consciousness itself is a fiction.”
― The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness
― The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness
“CUBBY ORDERED an express food delivery in the morning. It cost extra, but he wasn’t worried about money. His parents had left him well-off. How well-off he didn’t know, never having inquired into the matter. Month by month, year by year, a firm of accountants took his money to clubs on Wall Street where investments of easy virtue lounged. At least that was how Cubby understood it. It was a kind of escort service for money, though how the escorts reproduced was a mystery to him. The same accountants handled his insurance, his tax and now his senior security. His parents had set up the system when he was in college because they wanted him to concentrate on his studies. And Cubby had concentrated. He graduated summa cum laude at Harvard, achieving a Ph.D. with a dissertation on synchronized flashing in fireflies. (This little-known phenomenon occurs in the mountains of Tennessee. It is the insect equivalent of a rock concert. The male fireflies show up around 8:30 p.m., flashing on and off, watching one another to get the tempo right. The females, hot little groupies that they are, observe from the ground. By 9 p.m. the males are flashing in unison and the females go wild.)”
― A New Year's Tale
― A New Year's Tale
Sharon’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Sharon’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
224 books
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48 friends
413 books
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77 friends
77 books
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10 friends
Favorite Genres
Polls voted on by Sharon
Lists liked by Sharon
