Maya Berardi
is currently reading
Reading for the 2nd time
progress:
(page 0 of 2412)
"Reading this with a prefrontal cortex and almost no baseline knowledge is so awesome why did no one mention it’s like if Mary Oliver wrote Dune" — Apr 03, 2026 09:55AM
"Reading this with a prefrontal cortex and almost no baseline knowledge is so awesome why did no one mention it’s like if Mary Oliver wrote Dune" — Apr 03, 2026 09:55AM
Maya Berardi
is currently reading
progress:
(page 95 of 544)
"reading this book post-grad feels like meeting up with an ex you still have feelings for 😪 evolutionary linguistics come home the kids miss youuuu" — Jul 19, 2025 08:54PM
"reading this book post-grad feels like meeting up with an ex you still have feelings for 😪 evolutionary linguistics come home the kids miss youuuu" — Jul 19, 2025 08:54PM
progress:
(85%)
"uhhh where did Dorothea and Fred go??? I can NOT keep hearing about that doctor" — Apr 19, 2024 12:16PM
"uhhh where did Dorothea and Fred go??? I can NOT keep hearing about that doctor" — Apr 19, 2024 12:16PM
“Nelly, I am Heathcliff - he's always, always in my mind - not as a pleasure, any more then I am always a pleasure to myself - but, as my own being.”
― Wuthering Heights
― Wuthering Heights
“Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling the door closed behind him. Jack took the stairs two and two. They seized each other by the shoulders, hugged mightily, squeezing the breath out of each other, saying, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers, their mouths came together, and hard, Jack’s big teeth bringing blood, his hat falling to the floor, stubble rasping, wet saliva welling, and the door opening and Alma looking out for a few seconds at Ennis’s straining shoulders and shutting the door again and still they clinched, pressing chest and groin and thigh and leg together, treading on each other’s toes until they pulled apart to breathe and Ennis, not big on endearments, said what he said to his horses and his daughters, little darlin.”
― Brokeback Mountain
― Brokeback Mountain
“What Jack remembered and craved in a way he could neither help nor understand was the time that distant summer on Brokeback when Ennis had come up behind him and pulled him close, the silent embrace satisfying some shared and sexless hunger. They had stood that way for a long time in front of the fire, its burning tossing ruddy chunks of light, the shadow of their bodies a single column against the rock. The minutes ticked by from the round watch in Ennis's pocket, from the sticks in the fire settling into coals. Stars bit through the wavy heat layers above the fire. Ennis's breath came slow and quiet, he hummed, rocked a little in the sparklight and Jack leaned against the steady heartbeat, the vibrations of the humming like faint electricity and, standing, he fell into sleep that was not sleep but something else drowsy and tranced until Ennis, dredging up a rusty but still useable phrase from the childhood time before his mother died, said, "Time to hit the hay, cowboy. I got a go. Come on, you're sleepin on your feet like a horse," and gave Jack a shake, a push, and went off in the darkness. Jack heard his spurs tremble as he mounted, the words "see you tomorrow," and the horse's shuddering snort, grind of hoof on stone. Later, that dozy embrace solidified in his memory as the single moment of artless, charmed happiness in their separate and difficult lives. Nothing marred it, even the knowledge that Ennis would not then embrace him face to face because he did not want to see nor feel that it was Jack he held. And maybe, he thought, they'd never get much farther that that. Let be, let be.”
― Brokeback Mountain
― Brokeback Mountain
“Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.”
― Wuthering Heights
― Wuthering Heights
“then the voice in my head said
WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE ”
― In the Western Night: Collected Poems, 1965-1990
WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE ”
― In the Western Night: Collected Poems, 1965-1990
Maya’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Maya’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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