“[...] a morass of despair violence death with a thin layer of glass spread upon the surface where Love, a tiny crab with pincers and rainbow shell, walked delicately ever sideways but getting nowhere, while the sun [...] rose higher in the sky its tassels dropping with flame threatening every moment to melt the precarious highway of glass. And the people: giant pathworks of colour with limbs missing and parts of their mind snipped off to fit them into the outline of the free pattern.” PeopleMindMomentsSunViolenceSkyMissingHigherFitDespairRoseGlassesPatternsSpreadSurfaceTinyFlamesGiantsColourLayersRainbowShellsThreateningLimbsHighwaysDroppingOutlinesPrecariousSidewaysCrabsTassels Author:Janet Frame
“The sun is all love and murder, judgement, the perpetual raid of conscience, paratrooping light which opens like a snow-blossom in the downward drift of death. Wherever I turn - the golden cymbals of judgement, the summoning of the torturers of light.” LightTurnsSunConscienceMurderSnowGoldenJudgementPerpetualSummoningCymbals Author:Janet Frame
“I have always disliked the morning, it is too responsible a time, with the daylight demanding that it be 'faced' and (usually when I wake for I wake late) with the sun already up and in charge of the world, with little hope of anyone usurping or challenging its authority. A shot of light in the face of a poor waking human being and another slave limps wounded into the light-occupied territory.” WorldHumansLittlesLightFacesChallengesHuman BeingsPoorMorningSunAuthorityLateShotsResponsibleSlaveTerritoryWakingWoundedDaylight Book:Daughter buffalo Source: Daughter buffalo
