JokerSmiles

“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

“Writing is a public act, but is there ever a more private one? Could there ever be a more delicious sensation than the intimacy with the page, a better partner in any sin or crime than the white expanses, the undiscovered country, the unspoiled future where we can pretend for a moment that there are no Redundants, no Immortals, no echoes from the past, poetic, genetic, nanotechnological or otherwise? But the moment we lift the pen, the moment we use language, laden as it is with the past, with the victors of conquests and the blood of the vanquished, all the ghosts come flooding back, and we drown.”
― Anton Hur, Toward Eternity

“I AM THANKFUL FOR THE ocean, from which life springs. I am thankful for the ancestors, who lived, which is all any of us can do. And I am thankful for our vast human history, wide and various enough that there are legacies of triumph for every legacy of trauma. Everything is always changing, which means nothing can ever be hopeless. The battering rush of tides shapes and smooths rock, carves out new lands.”
― Rivers Solomon, The Deep

“I thought of what Igor said about Rio and me, water and fire. Whether or not humanity deserved it, Rio was the sort to pour himself out in compassion for humans. Me? I wanted to burn down the world”
― Venessa Vida Kelley, When the Tides Held the Moon