As hundreds of astronauts have done before, I place my faith and my life in the hands of the engineers who designed the system.—Andy Weir, Project Hail Mary. Highlighted
A thought occurs to him. He stops working on his device entirely. “You hear light from space, question? You hear stars, planets, asteroids, question?”—Andy Weir, Project Hail Mary. Highlighted
You are a good human.—Andy Weir, Project Hail Mary. Highlighted
You are stupid right now. You sleep.—Andy Weir, Project Hail Mary. Highlighted
How does the love keep swelling in the cavities of our frail bodies, how do these husks hold so much jagged pleasure in their parched split skins?—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
I have worried all over the world. It comes to me easily. Formed slowly through childhood like stalactites in a cave.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
In a poem, we don’t care if you got hired or fired, lost or found love, recovered or kept drinking. You don’t have to exercise or forgive. We’re hungry. We’ll take everything on the menu.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
Soon you’ll place bookmarks and go upstairs. I’ve seen your room with its sloping ceiling. Your bed. I won’t imagine more.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
there are mornings when I wake, my lips swollen from your kisses, my body bruised and fragrant as grasses on which lions have lain, and for a full bereft moment, I cannot, for the life of me, remember why I left.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
Bring me your pain, love. Spread it out like fine rugs, silk sashes, warm eggs, cinnamon and cloves in burlap sacks.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
And when he’s dying— even if I go to him—I’ll be little more than a dumb bouquet, spilling my scent.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
I lean into this stranger, seeking primitive comfort— heat, touch, breath—as we slip into the ancient vulnerability of sleep.—Ellen Bass, Mules of love. Highlighted
Page 2 of 14