Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Jodi Lynn Anderson

Quote by Jodi Lynn Anderson

“Ooh, look." Birdie swerved out of line to a bushy plant full of purple flowers. She plucked a few delightedly. "Lilacs." She thrust them toward Leeda's face, and Leeda smiled, sniffing. Birdie could make something exciting out of anything on the orchard. She knew all the flowers, the species of birds, how much rainfall they could expect, where moss was likely to grow, which mushrooms were edible, and how long many of the trees had been in the ground. To walk across the property with Birdie was never just to walk through unnoticed space.”

Quote by Jodi Lynn Anderson

Book:Love and Peaches
Create image

Work

Love and Peaches

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

Jodi Lynn Anderson
Jodi Lynn Anderson

Jodi Lynn Anderson is a talented author known for her imaginative and emotionally rich works. Although her exact birth and death dates are unknown, her writing career has already achieved significant accomplishments. more

You May Also Like

“She feels a tickling sensation against her hand, different from the silky touch of soil. Looking down, she sees the pink glimmer of a worm---and then another, and another. As she watches, spellbound, other insects emerge from the earth, glowing like jewels in the summer sun. The copper glint of a beetle's shell. The pale, segmented bodies of larvae. There is a buzzing in her ears, and she's not sure if it's from the roar of her pulse or the bees that have begun to circle nearby. They're getting closer. It's as if something---as if Kate---is drawing them. A beetle climbs her wrist, a worm brushes against the bare skin of her knee, a bee lands on her earlobe.”

InsectsMagicalEarthy
Book:Weyward
Create image

“The South is different from anywhere else on earth. Every time I returned, it seemed it was the beginning of my greatest story, like something was about to happen, the kind of something music was written about. There was a touch of magic in the air, and the Lowcountry was extra special. It must have something to do with the region's history, or maybe it was just the weather, but I felt more alive here. Even the sky was different. The sunrises were more jubilant, the stars brighter in the evenings, and the flowers more fragrant. It was easy to lose touch with nature in New York City, but just like a love that got away, you never knew how much you'd miss it until it was gone. In the evening when the sun would set, the horizon looked as if it were in flames. During a summer storm, giant blue-gray clouds pregnant with heat lightning rolled across the sky, making you run indoors filled with terror.”

AliveBlue SkyEarthyLowcountryPerfect WeatherSummer Storm
Book:My Magnolia Summer
Create image

“When I was a child, I associated my parents with individual flavors. It was the same way you might filter someone through a prism of color--- thinking of some people in blues, other people in reds--- but instead of color, the sensation I latched on to was flavor. My mother's flavors were always those of the desserts she made--- suave caramels and milk chocolates and the delicate, utterly feminine accents of crystallized violets or buttery almonds. But my father's flavors--- my father's flavors were something else altogether. They were subtle and elusive and melted on the tongue only to vanish before you could place them. Dark, adult flavors, and slightly bitter: veal carpaccio. silvery artichokes. And, most of all, mushrooms: chanterelles, chicken of the woods, and--- my father's favorite mushroom of all--- trumpets of death.”

FeminineSweetnessMasculineMushroomsFlavorsEarthy
Book:Charlotte Au Chocolat: Memories of a Restaurant Girlhood
Create image

“She took a sip of wine and held it in her mouth, straining to identify the flavors. Cherry, she thought. Licorice. Thorns. She imagined a forest in late autumn, damp leaves on the ground, a blaze of color. She took another sip. The man--- he must be Robert--- set a dish in front of her and she looked down, dismayed. What could it be? She'd never seen anything like it. It glistened up at her, a red-black sausage bursting from a shiny case. She inhaled the aroma: It was exotic, mysterious, almost intoxicating. "Taste it," he urged. It was pillow-soft, very rich, laced with spices. She identified the prickle of black pepper, the sweetness of onions. Parsley, she thought, nutmeg, and... was that chocolate? Bite by bite she chased the flavors, but they kept skipping away. "Did you like it?" Robert was back. She gestured at the empty plate. "It was wonderful. What kind of meat was in it?" "Not meat, exactly." He watched her face as he said, "That was blood sausage.”

WineFlavorsFrench FoodEarthyBlood Sausage
Book:The Paris Novel
Create image

“From the trolley, he picked up a chocolate, rolled in cacao powder. 'These are ganache truffles,' he said. 'The easiest chocolates to make. Even a child can make them. Even Mahmed could, probably.' I took one. It smelt of darkness infused with gold; a scent that both drew and repelled me. 'I don't really like dark chocolate,' I said. 'Just try one. I made them myself, from bean to bar. Nothing artificial.' I bit a piece from the chocolate. It was bitter and powdery, but there were other flavors there, struggling to be released. 'Rest it on your tongue for a while. Eyes closed. Mouth half open.' I did as he said. The bitter scent started to intensify. It's odd; I didn't quite like it, and yet it was evocative. I can taste charcoal, and nutmeg, and salt, and olive, and strong wild honey. It makes me think of incense, and woodsmoke on a frosty night, and the scent of fallen leaves in the rain, and the memory of that night in the church, the warmth of the confessional. I thought I didn't like chocolate. In fact, I never knew it. Those little squares of chocolate I'd had as a child were nothing like this. 'I know. It's different,' he said. 'It's eighty per cent cacao. It might taste a little bitter to you, but that's the nature of cacao: the stuff you get in the shops here is really mostly sugar and palm oil and fat. But this is the soul of the cacao bean. This strength. This bitter potency. And in this form, it has a kick. It sharpens the mind. Gives energy.' I put the rest of the chocolate aside. My mouth was furred with darkness.”

BittersweetEarthyDark ChocolateAll NaturalFirst BiteGanache
Book:Vianne
Create image

“I'm standing so close I can smell him, something familiar in the warmth of his skin--- the faintest whiff of his cologne with traces of warm amber and woody, resinous cedar and an underlying herbaceous, peppery note of olive oil that seems to be a part of his essence. I lean closer, my nose brushing his skin, and he pulls back enough to look at me incredulously. "Are you sniffing me?" I giggle, half-embarrassed at being caught out. "Sorry, you smell delicious," I tell him a little flirtatiously. "Oh, do I?" He watches me, intrigued. "What do I smell like?" "Like warm honey and the sticky sap of a cedar tree.”

Adult RomanceEarthyScent Of A Man
Book:The Secret of Orange Blossom Cake
Create image