the smallest lights in the universe, by sarah seager
I can remember with perfect clarity the night we found Jupiter.
I can remember with perfect clarity the night we found Jupiter.
Posted in bookmaggot, hope, i love the whole world | Comments Off on the smallest lights in the universe, by sarah seager
“The problem with Challenger wasn’t the machine. The machine was trying to talk to us, but we didn’t listen.”
Posted in bookmaggot, grief, history | Comments Off on the burning blue, by kevin cook
It’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived here how much we start to miss nature. In the future there will be a word for the specific kind of nostalgia we feel for living things.
Posted in bookmaggot, i love the whole world, mindfulness | Comments Off on endurance, by scott kelly
Human intelligence is not a gift. It’s an occasionally useful plague.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on fifteen dogs, by andre alexis
We wouldn’t exist without the obliterating smack of cosmic rock that plowed itself into the ancient Yucatán. Both stories are present in that moment. The rise and the fall are inextricable.
Posted in bookmaggot, history | Comments Off on the last days of the dinosaurs, by riley black
I know what it feels like to fear that there might not be many meaningful strategies left.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on the quickening, by elizabeth rush
We act like our preferences matter, because that is the job late capitalism has given us.
Posted in bookmaggot, politics, ranty | Comments Off on monsters, by claire dederer
Hyacinth recognizes what very few people wish to admit, that civilization has a price, and a high one.
Posted in bookmaggot, politics, ranty | Comments Off on the liberal imagination, by lionel trilling
In such hours the great roaring, indifferent world of London seemed to him a huge organization for mocking at his poverty
Posted in bookmaggot, politics, ranty | Comments Off on the princess casamassima, by henry james
Everything you hold onto too tightly will die in your hands.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on splinters, by leslie jamison
…you have to stop working from a place that is about making some invisible teacher happy.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on the witching year, by diana helmuth
…nothing humans do is real, and the trees don’t care, and we are all here together in dirt. This feels to me somehow like the opposite of despair.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief, hope | Comments Off on the last fire season, by manjula martin
So. Space settlements. Have we really thought this through?
Posted in adventure time, bookmaggot, uncategorized | Comments Off on a city on mars, by kelly and zach weinersmith
Tenoxtitlan is unshakable, she said, but we are only passing through.
Posted in bookmaggot, history | Comments Off on you dreamed of empires, by álvaro enrique
A sense of my own mediocrity, a general lack of courage, particularly when it comes to writing.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on getting lost, by annie ernaux
…in the years 1985 and 1986 the City of San Francisco’s AIDS budget exceeded the federal government’s.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on who does that bitch think she is? by craig seligman
“If someone took my baby away from me, I would have done a lot more than get a haircut. I would have burned the city to the ground.”
Posted in bookmaggot, children | Comments Off on the woman in me, by britney spears
The horror is so persistent, it’s almost banal.
Posted in bookmaggot, grief, history | Comments Off on wifedom, by anna funder
Cynicism and nihilism will make you dry up, like soil compacted by neglect and abuse. But soil holds the memory of life, and with some water and a garden fork, you might be able to bring it back. It helps to remember that you’re not alone. Look around. Is it really true that everyone sees time as money?
Posted in bookmaggot, hope, worldchanging | Comments Off on saving time, by jenny odell
To act in a way that is both sexist and racist, to maintain one’s class privilege, it is only necessary to act in the customary, ordinary, usual, even polite manner.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on how to suppress women’s writing, by joanna russ
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