Donna Haraway

The world is not a machine, but a living organism.

We need to cultivate a sense of shared destiny.

The world is not a problem to be solved, but a dance to be danced.

We need to learn to be good ancestors.

The world is not a given, but a continuous process of becoming.

We need to cultivate a sense of wonder and awe.

The world is not a collection of separate entities, but a dynamic whole.

We need to learn to live with the consequences of our actions.

The world is not a static object, but a living, breathing process.

We need to cultivate a sense of responsibility for the future.

I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess.

By the late twentieth century, our time, a mythic time, we are all chimeras, theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism; in short, we are cyborgs.

The cyborg is a creature in a post-gender world; it has no truck with bisexuality, pre-oedipal symbiosis, unalienated labour, or other seductions to organic wholeness through a final appropriation of all the powers of the parts into a higher unity.

Cyborg imagery can suggest a way out of the maze of dualisms in which we have explained our bodies and our tools to ourselves.

Writing is always and never representation.

It matters what matters we inherit, what knowledges we produce, what stories we tell.

Staying with the trouble requires making oddkin; that is, becoming response-able to the thickening of times, to the tangle of species-shaped pasts and futures.

Make kin, not babies.

The task is to make kin in lines of inventive connection as a practice of becoming human that goes beyond reproduction and beyond modernist production of individuals as human capital.

All of us who were flying in that thing together, human and nonhuman, were compost-in-the-making, compost-in-common.