sea of tranquility, by emily st. john mandel
There’s a low-level, specific pain in having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones.
There’s a low-level, specific pain in having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on sea of tranquility, by emily st. john mandel
“Why do you think it’s your fault?” she finally asked. It had never occurred to me that it was not.
Posted in bookmaggot | Comments Off on stay true, by hua hsu
Having traced my mother’s family to the Kingdom of Mercia I am in gales of laughter over the title of the most important surviving text in the Mercian language: The Old English Martyrology. Even other people who knew my mother and grandmother don’t think it’s as funny as I do. Story of my life.
Posted in england, fulishness, history | Comments Off on i suffer alone, uncomplaining
“There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—”it’s a haunted house.”
Posted in bookmaggot, grief | Comments Off on tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, by gabrielle zevin
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