100 books
—
1,709 voters
Per
https://www.goodreads.com/pphuck
progress:
(page 190 of 305)
"Mere animals couldn’t possibly manage to act like this. You need to be a human being to be really stupid." — Apr 27, 2026 10:18AM
"Mere animals couldn’t possibly manage to act like this. You need to be a human being to be really stupid." — Apr 27, 2026 10:18AM
Per
is currently reading
progress:
(page 35 of 128)
"Whale Bay […] is home to the Great Blues Whale, so named for its sorrowful disposition and doleful songs. These great beasts are hunted, but not for their meat or blubber, though that is a useful by-product: they are slaughtered mostly to silence them. Their gloomy choruses echoing through freezing fog and frozen landscape often prove too much for the exhausted and struggling inhabitants of this inhospitable land." — Apr 17, 2026 05:03AM
"Whale Bay […] is home to the Great Blues Whale, so named for its sorrowful disposition and doleful songs. These great beasts are hunted, but not for their meat or blubber, though that is a useful by-product: they are slaughtered mostly to silence them. Their gloomy choruses echoing through freezing fog and frozen landscape often prove too much for the exhausted and struggling inhabitants of this inhospitable land." — Apr 17, 2026 05:03AM
progress:
(page 157 of 610)
"A hundred April winds disperse her fragrance,
A thousand wet Octobers scour her footprints,
The ruthless years assail the ancient memory of her presence, yet
Where Yidhra walks the hills do not forget." — Apr 27, 2026 10:27AM
"A hundred April winds disperse her fragrance,
A thousand wet Octobers scour her footprints,
The ruthless years assail the ancient memory of her presence, yet
Where Yidhra walks the hills do not forget." — Apr 27, 2026 10:27AM
“What I’m suggesting,” Caroline said softly, “is that the lens can function as a shield between you and the world, when the world’s just a little too much to bear. If you can’t stand to look at the world directly, maybe it’s possible to
...more
“There is not one self. There are not ten selves. There is no self. ME is only a position in equilibrium. (One among a thousand others, continually possible and always at the ready.) An average of “me’s,” a movement in the crowd. In the name of many, I sign this book.”
―
―
“Social media gives legions of idiots the right to speak when they once only spoke at a bar after a glass of wine, without harming the community ... but now they have the same right to speak as a Nobel Prize winner. It's the invasion of the idiots”
―
―
“I asked him for it.
For the blood, for the rust,
for the sin.
I didn’t want the pearls other girls talked about,
or the fine marble of palaces,
or even the roses in the mouth of servants.
I wanted pomegranates—
I wanted darkness,
I wanted him.
So I grabbed my king and ran away
to a land of death,
where I reigned and people whispered
that I’d been dragged.
I’ll tell you I’ve changed. I’ll tell you,
the red on my lips isn’t wine.
I hope you’ve heard of horns,
but that isn’t half of it. Out of an entire kingdom
he kneels only to me,
calls me Queen, calls me Mercy.
Mama, Mama, I hope you get this.
Know the bed is warm and our hearts are cold,
know never have I been better
than when I am here.
Do not send flowers,
we’ll throw them in the river.
‘Flowers are for the dead’, ‘least that’s what
the mortals say.
I’ll come back when he bores me,
but Mama,
not today.”
―
For the blood, for the rust,
for the sin.
I didn’t want the pearls other girls talked about,
or the fine marble of palaces,
or even the roses in the mouth of servants.
I wanted pomegranates—
I wanted darkness,
I wanted him.
So I grabbed my king and ran away
to a land of death,
where I reigned and people whispered
that I’d been dragged.
I’ll tell you I’ve changed. I’ll tell you,
the red on my lips isn’t wine.
I hope you’ve heard of horns,
but that isn’t half of it. Out of an entire kingdom
he kneels only to me,
calls me Queen, calls me Mercy.
Mama, Mama, I hope you get this.
Know the bed is warm and our hearts are cold,
know never have I been better
than when I am here.
Do not send flowers,
we’ll throw them in the river.
‘Flowers are for the dead’, ‘least that’s what
the mortals say.
I’ll come back when he bores me,
but Mama,
not today.”
―
“If you can’t ask questions, you can’t learn,”
― A Half-Built Garden
― A Half-Built Garden
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