Hà Linh

“Confetti
green, how I want you green.
Green despite the red despite
the rest.”
― Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

“I re-read the books I love and I love the books I re-read, and each time it is the same enjoyment, whether I re-read twenty pages, three chapters, or the whole book: an enjoyment of complicity, of collusion, or more especially, and in addition, of having in the end found kin again.”
― Georges Perec, W, or the Memory of Childhood

“[...] I saw the business of writing for what it truly was and is to me. It is your penance for not being lucky. It is an attempt to reach others and to make them love you. It is your instinctive protest, when you find you have no voice at the world’s tribunals, and that no one will speak for you. I would give my entire output of words, past, present, and to come, in exchange for easier access to the world, for permission to state ‘I hurt’ or ‘I hate’ or ‘I want’. Or, indeed, ‘Look at me’. And I do not go back on this. For once a thing is known it can never be unknown. It can only be forgotten. And writing is the enemy of forgetfulness, of thoughtlessness. For the writer there is no oblivion. Only endless memory.”
― Anita Brookner, Look at Me

“Your body falling through space touches the deepest part of me.”
― Yōko Ogawa, The Diving Pool: Three Novellas