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sophie
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“O: 'The most we can do is to write - intelligently, creatively, critically, evocatively - about what it is like living in the world at this time”
― Insomniac City: New York, Oliver, and Me
― Insomniac City: New York, Oliver, and Me
“I'm always happy," Sasha said. "Sometimes I just forget.”
― A Visit from the Goon Squad
― A Visit from the Goon Squad
“Everybody’s looking for their tiny piece of meaning. Some fleeting, perfect thing that might make them more alive.”
― The Bricks that Built the Houses: A Novel
― The Bricks that Built the Houses: A Novel
“Winter laid her solemn hands across the city and stroked all the colours out of the sky”
― The Bricks that Built the Houses
― The Bricks that Built the Houses
“When I sit up I am greeted by the world. Level with the treetops I look down on sparrows swooping in and out of the branches. The tide, the new rising moon, the clouds, the wind - these greet me. These are my allies. The whole planet is laid out before me and available for whatever adventure the day will take me on.
By comparison, living in society seems to require an alarm clock. Primarily assembled from angst and fish anuses, these contraptions, regardless of your soul's whereabouts, will slap and assault you into a pitiful state of what passes for consciousness. Your first sight is the Time, an arragement of molecules on the clock's face to whom you will be enslaved for the rest of the day. You may as well call him "master." Next, a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, a knocked-over glass of water, and so forth, until you are so overwhelmed with despair that to prevent hurling yourself through the window, you must ignore your personal bill of rights, put on an acceptable frown, and go about your business, disregarding the pleas from you increasingly timid soul.”
― On Whale Island: Notes from a Place I Never Meant to Leave
By comparison, living in society seems to require an alarm clock. Primarily assembled from angst and fish anuses, these contraptions, regardless of your soul's whereabouts, will slap and assault you into a pitiful state of what passes for consciousness. Your first sight is the Time, an arragement of molecules on the clock's face to whom you will be enslaved for the rest of the day. You may as well call him "master." Next, a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, a knocked-over glass of water, and so forth, until you are so overwhelmed with despair that to prevent hurling yourself through the window, you must ignore your personal bill of rights, put on an acceptable frown, and go about your business, disregarding the pleas from you increasingly timid soul.”
― On Whale Island: Notes from a Place I Never Meant to Leave
sophie’s 2025 Year in Books
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