A review by libraryofcam
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

5.0

Some of the quotes I loved


“What do we mean when we say survivor? Maybe a survivor is the last one to come home, the final monarch that lands on a branch already weighted with ghosts.
[…]
To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse; both shelter and warning at once.
[…]
You're a mother, Ma. You're also a monster. But so am I— which is why I can't turn away from you. Which is why I haven’t taken god's loneliest creation and put you inside it.” (p13-14)

I don’t know if you’re happy, Ma. I never asked. (p32)

Because a bullet without a body is a song without ears. (p77)

Ma. You once told me that memory is a choice. But if you were god, you'd know it's a flood. (p78)

Do you ever wonder if sadness and happiness can be combined, to make a deep purple feeling, not good, not bad, but remarkable simply because you didn't have to live on one side or the other? (p122)

They say a song can be a bridge, Ma. But I say it's also the ground we stand on. And maybe we sing to keep ourselves from falling. Maybe we sing to keep ourselves. (p125)

Maybe we look into mirrors not merely to seek beauty, regardless how illusive, but to make sure, despite the facts, that we are still here. That the hunted body we move in has not yet been annihilated, scraped out. To see yourself still yourself is a refuge men who have not been denied cannot know. (p138)

We had decided, shortly after we met, because our friends were already dying from overdoses, to never tell each other goodbye or good night. (p169)

I'm writing you because I'm not the one leaving, but the one coming back, empty-handed. (p174)

[…] to look at something is to fill your whole life with it, if only briefly. (p175)

They say nothing lasts forever but they're just scared it will last longer than they can love it. (p176)

The thing is, I don't want my sadness to be othered from me just as I don't want my happiness to be othered. They're both mine. (p181)

The truth is we can survive our lives, but not our skin. (p182)

You and I, we were Americans until we opened our eyes. (p185)

I miss you more than I remember you. (p186)

I'm sorry I keep saying How are you? when I really mean Are you happy? (p192)

It was beauty, I learned, that we risked ourselves for. (p208)

All freedom is relative—you know too well—and sometimes it's no freedom at all, but simply the cage widening far away from you, the bars abstracted with distance but still there, as when they "free" wild animals into nature preserves only to contain them yet again by larger borders. But I took it any way, that widening. Because sometimes not seeing the bars is enough. (p216)

I remember learning that saints were only people whose pain was notable, noted. I remember thinking you and Lan should be saints. (p219)

All this time I told myself we were born from war—but I was wrong, Ma. We were born from beauty. (p231)

« “Hey," he said, half-asleep, "what were you before you met me?"
“I think I was drowning.”
A pause.
“And what are you now?" he whispered, sinking.
I thought for a second. "Water.” » (p237-238)

I am thinking of beauty again, how some things are hunted because we have deemed them beautiful. If, relative to the history of our planet, an individual life is so short, a blink of an eye, as they say, then to be gorgeous, even from the day you're born to the day you die, is to be gorgeous only briefly. (p238)

What we would give to have the ruined lives of animals tell a human story—when our lives are in themselves the story of animals. (p242)
 

Yeah that’s not all of them Ahahaha. This book was magical, a marvel. I loved it. 
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