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M Train
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by Patti Smith (Goodreads Author)
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Crying in H Mart
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Mary Gaitskill
“He was beginning to see her as a locked garden that he could sneak into and sit in for days, tearing the heads off the flowers.”
Mary Gaitskill, Bad Behavior

Virginia Woolf
“How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.”
Virginia Woolf, The Waves

Ling  Ma
“What I didn’t say was: I know you too well. You live your life idealistically. You think it’s possible to opt out of the system. No regular income, no health insurance. You quit jobs on a dime. You think this is freedom but I still see the bare, painstakingly cheap way you live, the scrimping and saving, and that is not freedom either. You move in circumscribed circles. You move peripherally, on the margins of everything, pirating movies and eating dollar slices. I used to admire this about you, how fervently you clung to your beliefs—I called it integrity—but five years of watching you live this way has changed me. In this world, money is freedom. Opting out is not a real choice.”
Ling Ma, Severance

Marie Howe
“But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.”
Marie Howe, What the Living Do: Poems

Jamaica Kincaid
“Oh what a morning it was, that first morning of Mrs. Sweet awaking before the baby Heracles with his angry cries, declaring his hunger, the discomfort of his wet diaper, the very aggravation of being new and in the world; the rays of sun were falling on the just and unjust, the beautiful and the ugly, causing the innocent dew to evaporate; the sun, the dew, the little waterfall right next to the village's firehouse, making a roar, though really it was an imitation of the roar of a real waterfall; the smell of some flower, faint, as it unfurled its petals for the first time: oh what a morning!”
Jamaica Kincaid, See Now Then

year in books
Robert
2,662 books | 2,708 friends

Taylor
1,151 books | 53 friends

Aarya
437 books | 19 friends

Cameron...
248 books | 10 friends

Julian
1,424 books | 58 friends

Sam
Sam
267 books | 10 friends

SJ
SJ
129 books | 6 friends

Jess L
496 books | 32 friends

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