Archive for the 'bookmaggot' Category

the smallest lights in the universe, by sarah seager

I can remember with perfect clarity the night we found Jupiter.

the burning blue, by kevin cook

“The problem with Challenger wasn’t the machine. The machine was trying to talk to us, but we didn’t listen.”

endurance, by scott kelly

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.

fifteen dogs, by andre alexis

Human intelligence is not a gift. It’s an occasionally useful plague.

the last days of the dinosaurs, by riley black

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.

the quickening, by elizabeth rush

I know what it feels like to fear that there might not be many meaningful strategies left.

monsters, by claire dederer

We act like our preferences matter, because that is the job late capitalism has given us.

the liberal imagination, by lionel trilling

Hyacinth recognizes what very few people wish to admit, that civilization has a price, and a high one.

the princess casamassima, by henry james

In such hours the great roaring, indifferent world of London seemed to him a huge organization for mocking at his poverty

splinters, by leslie jamison

Everything you hold onto too tightly will die in your hands.

the witching year, by diana helmuth

…you have to stop working from a place that is about making some invisible teacher happy.

the last fire season, by manjula martin

…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.

a city on mars, by kelly and zach weinersmith

So. Space settlements. Have we really thought this through?

you dreamed of empires, by álvaro enrique

Tenoxtitlan is unshakable, she said, but we are only passing through.

getting lost, by annie ernaux

A sense of my own mediocrity, a general lack of courage, particularly when it comes to writing.

who does that bitch think she is? by craig seligman

…in the years 1985 and 1986 the City of San Francisco’s AIDS budget exceeded the federal government’s.

the woman in me, by britney spears

“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.”

wifedom, by anna funder

The horror is so persistent, it’s almost banal.

saving time, by jenny odell

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?

how to suppress women’s writing, by joanna russ

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.