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Quote by Tamuna Tsertsvadze

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Gift of the Fox

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Tamuna Tsertsvadze

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“Every perfume is made of top, middle, and base notes. Top notes are light, middle notes last longer, base notes last longest. A good perfume has all three, but they have to be in the proper proportions." The sentences washed over me in a wave of technicalities, but I could feel what she was talking about. It had happened with every scent-paper I'd smelled, the fragrance shifting, telling a story that deepened even as it disappeared. Even nature was that way, if you thought about it- the bright green of the trees giving way to the dark and complicated dirt beneath, the ocean holding the scent of death under all that life.”

“Irie serves me three ramens, including a bowl made with a rich dashi and head-on shrimp and another studded with spicy ground pork and wilted spinach and lashed with chili oil. Both are exceptionally delicious, sophisticated creations, but it's his interpretation of tonkotsu that leaves me muttering softly to myself. The noodles are firm and chewy, the roast pork is striped with soft deposits of warm fat, and the toppings- white curls of shredded spring onion, chewy strips of bamboo, a perfect square of toasted seaweed- are skillfully applied. Here it is the combination of tare, the culmination of years of careful tinkering, and broth, made from whole pig heads and knots of ginger, that defies the laws of tonkotsu: a soup with the savory, meaty intensity of a broth made from a thousand pigs that's light enough to leave you wanting more. And more. And more.”

“You still aren't screaming." "Is that the usual reaction you get when people realize you're, um..." "Different? Yes, generally." Marcus stepped up beside him. "We also get shrieks, curses, pant wetting, bowels releasing"--Sarah grimaced--"religious recitations..." Her eyebrows rose. "Religious recitations?" "You know--Get thee back, you, ah..." He nudged Roland. "What was it that priest called us?" Roland rolled his eyes. "Which one?" "The one in London." "What century?" "Eighteenth." Sarah's mouth fell open. "The one with hair like Albert Einstein?" "Yes." "Spawns of Satan." "Right." Adopting a raspy elderly man's voice, Marcus shook his fist at Sarah and intoned dramatically, "Get thee back, ye spawns of Satan. Return thee to the bowels of hell where ye belong!" Lowering his fist, he proceeded in a normal voice."Then he hurled numerous biblical versus at our heads as we walked away...But screaming is by far the most common reaction, from both men and women.”

“I knew that if I allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me. Insisting on this story was a form of mind control, but for the most part, it worked. Every time I heard a sound of unknown origin or felt something horrible cohering in my imagination, I pushed it away. I simply did not let myself become afraid. Fear begets fear. Power begets Power. I willed myself to beget power. And it wasn't long before I actually wasn't afraid.”