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Quote by Erica Bauermeister

“We made a fire and cooked the clams, adding some wild onions and sea asparagus for flavor, and ate out of bowls made of abalone shells, with mussel shells for spoons and berries for dessert.”

Quote by Erica Bauermeister

Book:The Scent Keeper
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Work

The Scent Keeper

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Author

Erica Bauermeister

Erica Bauermeister is an American author born in 1959. Her works are known for their unique perspective and profound emotional depth, primarily focusing on themes of family, love, and human nature. more

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“Only shells collected from the sea could be crafted into necklaces to soothe anxious hearts. Every day, people crossed the threshold of their home. They settled into the nook of the guest room. They wept onto carefully curated shells, which would later be sanded and shaped into stars and worn as necklaces to soothe their suffering. There was an alchemy between the sea and the shells that her family had melded. Before her mother, the work had been her grandmother's. Before that, her grandmother's mother. Eight generations of Khanani women winding their way down to--- one day--- Yas. She'd once eagerly painted each star before it left their home. Delicate birds. Flowers. Yas had loved the work. The art of catching and cutting and sanding and smoothing.”

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“Blue!" The boy shrieked. Yas followed the toddler's pointing finger. The ocean around them rippled with their movement. The water was not pink. Nor lavender. It did not glimmer. Pooling in swirls around her ankles were ribbons of aqua and teal. Threads of silver and gold. "Raf?" she whispered. "You see it, don't you?" "I... Y-yes, I do." From the shoreline, Ernie stared with his jaw parted at the ripples of color. Not bothering to roll up his pajama bottoms, he walked into the water, the sea sloshing around his feet. Spirals of daffodil yellow puddled around his ankles. "What... what is happening?" he whispered. Others stepped into the water. They winced at the shards pricking at their feet. The shards. Yas kneeled in the water. She pulled out a jagged, cracked shell fragment from the ocean floor and cradled it in her palm---the salt water dripping from it trailed rivulets of color down her hands, which glimmered beneath the still-dark sky. "It's the shells." Yas leaned down and scooped out more. She raised her hand and opened her palm---the crowd gasped as gold and red trailed down her arm. "The color is..." Oscar's voice trailed off. "It's leaking out of the broken shells?”

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“El orgullo no viene a través de nuestra naturaleza animal en absoluto. Este viene directamente del infierno. Es puramente espiritual, y en consecuencia, es mucho más mortífero y sutil. Por la misma razón, el orgullo puede ser a menudo utilizado para combatir los vicios menores. Los maestros, de hecho, a menudo acuden al orgullo de los alumnos, o, como ellos lo llaman, a la estimación que sienten por sí mismos, para impulsarles a comportarse correctamente: más de un hombre ha superado la cobardía, la lujuria o el mal carácter aprendiendo a pensar que estas cosas no son dignas de él… es decir, por orgullo. El demonio se ríe. Le importa muy poco ver cómo os hacéis castos y valientes y dueños de vuestros impulsos siempre que, en todo momento, él esté infligiendo en vosotros la dictadura del orgullo… del mismo modo que no le importaría que se os curasen los sabañones si se le permitiera a cambio infligiros un cáncer. Porque el orgullo es un cáncer espiritual, devora la posibilidad misma del amor, de la satisfacción, o incluso del sentido común.”

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“I once estimated that between the ages of twenty and forty-eight, I lived in approximately twenty different homes. That’s not everywhere I stayed (that number would be incalculable); it’s merely everywhere I lived—everywhere that had my actual name on the lease or the mortgage. And I never lived alone. I couldn’t bear to live alone. I couldn’t bear being alone with the open wound that was my own mind. But I also couldn’t bear the chafe and strain of intimacy. I couldn’t last anywhere, and I couldn’t last with anyone. So I came and went, colliding and separating, roaming the planet, constantly looking for places to land and people to merge with. I sometimes used to call this behavior “being a free spirit,” but my wild instability was quite the opposite of freedom, because I had no agency in the matter—only urgency. Also, if I was so “free,” why did I always end up feeling trapped? It’s because my moves were motivated by desperate situations in which I was running either toward somebody or away from somebody else. I constantly found myself in stories that started out with passion but ended up with shame. So much shame, in fact, that during those years there were entire geographic regions that I had to flee at top speed, because my behavior had created dramas that made it impossible to remain there for another day. Goodbye, Philadelphia! Adios, Oaxaca! Well, I guess I can never go back to Wyoming again!”

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“La evolución ha supuesto que nuestros lóbulos prefrontales sean demasiado reducidos, nuestras glándulas suprarrenales demasiado abultadas y nuestros órganos reproductores parezcan diseñados por un equipo de incompetentes; esta receta, por sí sola o combinada con otros ingredientes, tiene muchas probabilidades de traducirse en cierta infelicidad y ocasionar algunos transtornos.”

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“Nunca olvides que cuando estamos tratando cualquier placer en su forma sana, normal y satisfactoria, estamos, en cierto sentido, en el terreno del Enemigo. Por eso tratemos siempre de alejarnos de la condición natural de un placer hacia lo que en él es menos natural, lo que menos huele a su Hacedor, y lo menos placentero. La fórmula es un ansia siempre creciente de un placer siempre decreciente. Es más seguro, y es de mejor estilo. Conseguir el alma del hombre y no darle nada a cambio: eso es lo que realmente alegra el corazón de Nuestro Padre.”

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Book:The Screwtape Letters
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