bug

“The choir are screaming now, fugue-permutations veering and careening to the outer limits of the field where any ratio of intervals or pitches might hold sway: tonics swapping with subdominants within the space of single notes that seem to play out in three octaves all at once, false entries, inversions, retrogrades and diminutions running riot through all keys -- until, suddenly, these fall away, like clouds”
― Tom McCarthy, The Making of Incarnation

“The logical conclusion of the development of wildlife corridors and protected areas -- even mobile ones -- is that there are places which must be left to non-humans, even in a more-than-human world.
This is not a new suggestion. It goes back at least to the beginning of the twentieth century in Western culture, to the founding of National Parks in Europe and America, and it is intrinsic to non-Western conceptions of our place among the species of the planet. But there is growing awareness that it is now more urgent and must be much more extensive than a few scattered parks and sanctuaries. Indeed, there is a strong scientific and moral case that it should comprise at least half the entire Earth.”
― James Bridle, Ways of Being: Animals, Plants, Machines: The Search for a Planetary Intelligence

“Edwin’s gaze drifted away from the man’s face, to the mild decrepitude of the September garden. The salvias were bare now, for the most part, brown stalks and dried leaves, a few last blooms wisping blue and violet in the failing light. He was struck by an understanding of what his life could be from this moment: he could live here quietly, and care for the garden, and that might eventually be enough.”
― Emily St. John Mandel, Sea of Tranquility

“And we have the night ahead of us
to stroll in lilac-scented gardens. Everything there
is here. It is all ours. You are mine, I am yours
and the shadow, your shadow, laughs like an orange. The dream
did its job and, like a postman, hurried on
to someone else. So we have to be
worthy, this evening, of ourselves, and of a river
that runs along beside us, and that we flow into as it flows into us.”
― Mahmoud Darwish, A River Dies of Thirst: Journals