[floatingsaturn]

Tell Me Something Good, Ocean Vuong

[floatingsaturn]

"....we look up and we hope the stars look down, we pray that there may be stars for us to follow, stars moving across the heavens and leading us to our destiny, but it's only our vanity. We look at the galaxy and fall in love, but the universe cares less about us than we do about it, and the stars stay in their courses however much we may wish upon them to do otherwise. It's true that if you watch the sky-wheel turn for a while you'll see a meteor fall , flame and die. That's not a star worth following; it's just an unlucky rock. Our fates are here on earth. There are no guiding stars."

Salman Rushdie, The Moor's Last Sigh

[floatingsaturn]

Ocean Vuong, Snow Theory

[floatingsaturn]

Snow Theory, Ocean Vuong

[metamorphesque]

Vardges Petrosyan, Years Lived and Unlived (translated by metamorphesque)

[floatingsaturn]

"....we look up and we hope the stars look down, we pray that there may be stars for us to follow, stars moving across the heavens and leading us to our destiny, but it's only our vanity. We look at the galaxy and fall in love, but the universe cares less about us than we do about it, and the stars stay in their courses however much we may wish upon them to do otherwise. It's true that if you watch the sky-wheel turn for a while you'll see a meteor fall , flame and die. That's not a star worth following; it's just an unlucky rock. Our fates are here on earth. There are no guiding stars."

Salman Rushdie, The Moor's Last Sigh

[floatingsaturn]

—& O BRIGHT STAR OF DISASTER, I HAVE BEEN LIT, Franny Choi

[floatingsaturn]

"Two languages cancel each other out, suggests Barthes, beckoning a third. Sometimes our words are few and far between, or simply ghosted. In which case the hand, although limited by the borders of skin and cartilage, can be that third language that animates where the tongue falters."

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

[floatingsaturn]

"I wanted to uncover something special about her that only I could reveal. That she was so much more than a housewife, than a mother. That she was her own spectacular individual. Perhaps I was still sanctimoniously belittling the two roles she was ultimately most proud of, unable to accept that the same degree of fulfillment may await those who wish to nurture and love as those who seek to earn and create. Her art was the love that beat on in her loved ones, a contribution to the world that could be just as monumental as a song or a book. There could not be one without the other. Maybe I was just terrified that I might be the closest thing she had to leaving a piece of herself behind."

— Crying in H Mart, Michelle Zauner

[floatingsaturn]

"Sometimes my grief feels as though I’ve been left alone in a room with no doors."

—Crying in H Mart, Michelle Zauner

[floatingsaturn]

"Two languages cancel each other out, suggests Barthes, beckoning a third. Sometimes our words are few and far between, or simply ghosted. In which case the hand, although limited by the borders of skin and cartilage, can be that third language that animates where the tongue falters."

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

[weltenwellen]

Rainer Maria Rilke in a letter to Lou Andreas-Salomé, published in Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: A Love Story in Letters

[seaoflove]

ada limón, from “mowing” in bright dead things

[floatingsaturn]

—& O BRIGHT STAR OF DISASTER, I HAVE BEEN LIT, Franny Choi

[nmnv]

“zweisamkeit”

— (noun) An untranslatable German word, zweisamkeit is described as the togetherness and intimacy you experience with someone else.

[floatingsaturn]

"They say the earth spins and that’s why we fall but everyone knows it’s the music."

—Not Even, Ocean Vuong

[floatingsaturn]

"Tell me, Genry, what is known? What is sure, predictable, inevitable—the one certain thing you know concerning your future, and mine?"

"That we shall die."

"Yes. There's really only one question that can be answered, Genry, and we already know the answer. … The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next."

— The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula. K Leguin