More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.
Some people dressed up to go to church or dinner parties; we dressed to the nines to go to a commercial center off I-91.
Every history has more than one thread, each thread a story of division.
The monarchs that fly south will not make it back north. Each departure, then, is final. Only their children return; only the future revisits the past.
You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.
To love something, then, is to name it after something so worthless it might be left untouched—and alive.
what if the mother tongue is stunted? What if that tongue is not only the symbol of a void, but is itself a void, what if the tongue is cut out?
