Naomi

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Naomi’s Bookshelves

to-read‎ (224)
currently-reading‎ (3)
read‎ (702)
did-not-finish‎ (0)
fantasy‎ (166)
adult-fiction‎ (113)
y-a‎ (101)

nonfic-memoir‎ (97)
romance‎ (71)
books-i-listened-to‎ (63)
graphic-novels-comics-mangas‎ (60)
sci-fi‎ (47)
contemporary‎ (46)
favorites‎ (42)

classics‎ (39)
non-fic-science-sociology‎ (37)
middle-grade-juvenile-fic‎ (33)
feminism-social-justice-lgbtqia‎ (30)
book-club-reads‎ (26)
nonfic-history‎ (26)
asian-lit‎ (23)

african-lit‎ (11)
indigenous-lit‎ (11)
historical-fic‎ (9)
poetry‎ (4)
thriller‎ (1)

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Naomi is Currently Reading

Naomi is currently reading

Outlive: The Science & Art of Longevity

by Peter Attia (Goodreads Author)

bookshelves: currently-reading, non-fic-science-sociology

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May 03, 2026 04:53AM

Naomi is currently reading

Women Talking

by Miriam Toews

bookshelves: currently-reading, adult-fiction

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May 03, 2026 04:52AM

Naomi is currently reading

Clarity & Connection

by Yung Pueblo (Goodreads Author)

bookshelves: currently-reading, poetry

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Jan 19, 2026 12:51PM

Naomi’s Quotes

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

tags: dreams, life

48256 likes

“Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows

577 likes

“They weren't children; they knew this was a special time and a fleeting one, but there was nothing cynical in that recognition, nor at all resigned to eventual stagnation: they were, simply, in the first great thaw of spring, and they were enjoying the warmth of the sun, without demanding that it never rain or snow again.”
― Brent Weeks, The Burning White

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“What does separation look like? A wall? A wave? A body of water? A ripple of light or a shimmer of subatomic particles, parting? What does it feel like to push through? Her fingers press against the rag surface of her dream, recognize the tenacity of filaments and know that it is paper about to teat, but for the fibrous memory that still lingers there, supple, vascular, and standing tall. The tree was past and the paper is present, and yet paper still remembers holding itself upright and altogether. Like a dream, it remembers its sap.”
― Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being

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“He studied what he'd long avoided, and there was now no detail obscured, no truth denied. Here he stood in the cold light of eternity, and by some magic greater than chromaturgy, all that was wretched and self-deprecatory and judgmental and hating fell away like a serpent's scale from his eye.
He had seen through Orholam's mask of being an old prophet, and beheld something ineffably beguiling beneath the old prophet's age spots and deep wrinkles and snaggle teeth.
And now he saw something of that same beauty in himself, an image of the divine.
Here was Dazen Guile through the eyes of charity.
And as unwilling tears flooded his eyes, he realized that —wonder of wonders!—he was glorious.”
― Brent Weeks, The Burning White

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