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Infants of the Sp...
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Infants of the Spring by Wallace Thurman
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The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral... by Julian Jaynes
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Man at the Helm by Nina Stibbe
Man at the Helm
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Signs Preceding the End of the World by Yuri Herrera
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The Dead All Have the Same Skin by Boris Vian
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Fearless exploration of race and the cost of thinking there's any such thing
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Man at the Helm by Nina Stibbe
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Autobiography of Mark Twain by Mark Twain
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Absolutely Nothing to Get Alarmed About by Charles Stevenson, Wright
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More of k's books…
Dylan Thomas
“...Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.”
Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill

Álvaro Enrigue
“A veces escribir es un trabajo: trazar oblicuamente el camino de ciertas ideas que nos parece indispensable poner en la mesa. Pero otras es conceder lo que queda, aceptar el museo y contemplar el saldo en espera de la muerte, pedirle perdón al mar por lo que se jodió. Poner en la mesa nuestras cajitas y saber que lo que se acabó era también todo el universo.”
Álvaro Enrigue, Hipotermia

Carl Sagan
“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.”
Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space

Ernest Hemingway
“Never to go on trips with anyone you do not love.”
Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

Clarice Lispector
“Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting”
Clarice Lispector, A Hora Da Estrela

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