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— R. F. Kuang, Katabasis (2025)

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“[H]ow wonderful, truly, to have a friend whose silence you adored.”
— R. F. Kuang, Katabasis (2025)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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It was a world of shouting men and it stank of them!
— Xiaolu Guo, Call Me Ishmaelle (2025)
“Most insecurities were palimpsests, scars long since grown over but still feared.”
— Isa Agajanian, Modern Divination
“I knew a wrench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit, and so may you, sir.”
— William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew
“We were a generation raised on behavioral theory. We could see both the buttons and the fingers that pushed them, but that awareness did nothing to shield us from their effects.”
—Jade Chang, What a Time to Be Alive

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“(To be a girl is to have your edges torn away by people who do not deserve any part of you.)”
— Jade Chang, What a Time to Be Alive (2025)
“They put their coats in a small square locker, Hector handed out coins for the lockers, and Ina smiled when she realized he must have planned ahead, he knew that the lockers only accepted coins, so he had saved four coins to ensure a smooth entry to the aquarium. For some people, love needed to be proven with diamond rings or surprise weekends in Paris, but for Ina, love meant the ability to plan ahead and seeing Hector hand out those coins to her sisters made her realize that he loved her.”
— Jonas Hassen Khemiri, The Sisters
“A rumor spread that there were men among the protesters with guns...Perhaps it was true. Perhaps it wasn't. But the more adamant the protesters were, the more they fought back, the more they refused to scatter, the more certain the police were that they were armed. Defiance like this could surely not exist unless supported by weapons. So, they suspected. In the end, the police couldn't bear the suspense of their suspicion and opened fire….In a fast-forward blur, thirteen local boys were dead. This was how history moved, the slow build, the quick burn, and in an incoherence, the leaping both backward and forward, swallowing the young into old hate. The space between life and death, in the end, too small to measure.”
“How did her feet manage to walk? She would thank them all her life.”
— Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss
“What was a country but the idea of it? … How often could you attack it before it crumbled? To undo something took practice; it was a dark art and they were perfecting it. With each argument the next would be easier, would become a compulsive act, and like wrecking a marriage, it would be impossible to keep away, to stop picking at wounds even if the wounds were your own.”
— Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

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“These words that took direct aim at something elusive had the deliberateness of previous consideration, she realized with a thud of joy.”
— Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss
“I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.”
— Jorge Luis Borges, “Boast of Quietness”
“Our lives here are inexpressibly trivial and momentous at once, it seems he's about to wake up and say. Both repetitive and unprecedented. We matter greatly and not at all. To reach some pinnacle of human achievement only to discover that your achievements are next to nothing and that to understand this is the greatest achievement of any life, which itself is nothing, and also much more than everything. Some metal separates us from the void; death is so close. Life is everywhere, everywhere.”
— Samantha Harvey, Orbital
“We exist now in a fleeting bloom of life and knowing, one finger-snap of frantic being, and this is it. This summery burst of life is more bomb than bud. These fecund times are moving fast.”
— Samantha Harvey, Orbital
“The planet is shaped by the sheer amazing force of human want, which has changed everything, the forests, the poles, the reservoirs, the glaciers, the rivers, the seas, the mountains, the coastlines, the skies, a planet contoured and landscaped by want.”
— Samantha Harvey, Orbital

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A deep curiosity, a brain of ornate architecture, a focus, an optimism and a pragmatism; an astronaut to his bones before he even knew what an astronaut was. But a robot, no. There in his chest is a heart that tilts and pitches. He can keep its beats slow and smooth, of fear or panic or impulse, stop it yearning too much for home, curb its unhelpful states of abandon. Calm and steady, calm and steady. Metronome pacing out the breath. Yet still at times it tilts and pitches. It wants what it wants and hopes what it hopes and needs what it needs and loves what it loves. So strenuously unrobotic is the astronaut's heart that it leaves the earth's atmosphere and it presses out - gravity stops pressing in and the counterweight of the heart starts pressing out, as if suddenly aware it is part of an animal, alive and feeling. An animal that does not just bear witness, but loves what it witnesses.
- Samantha Harvey, Orbital
“What if life together had accrued? What if there had been so many nights entangled and so many mornings of Sonia calling out, of Sunny coo-rooing like a silly pigeon in reply? What if there had been so many weeks, months, and years of swimming out over and under the waves; so many pages of reading on the veranda; so many mackerel cutlets and friendships with stray dogs; so many plastic bags saved; even so many arguments-coasting up, cresting, coasting down into the fizz and pop? In the end, a person simply needs to sleep. So many times resting then, because even if one's tongue argued with another, one's limbs remembered peace and kept their loyalty. What would it be like if the smell and feel of each other remained comforting, and just as one or the other was on the verge of saying, Look, we can't go on like this, a wave of familiar, basking scent might come wafting. They might reach over without thinking to wave away a fly near the other's face. Or yawn in tandem. Sunny might lift Sonia's bag to the overhead rack in a bus, she might automatically hand him a napkin when a tureen lid dripped with steam from the caldinha. They might find they scratched the other in bed feeling an itch themselves, because they wouldn't know whose arm was whose—and each time, such familiarities might dissuade them from parting. Would such habits over time mount into an ocean that nothing could overcome?”