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Quote by Zara Quiroga

“I think food writing tends to be pompous and, generally speaking, not for the masses. I try to make sure my writing doesn’t come across as pretentious. In fact, my food book, Lisbon in 100 Bites, is quite the opposite of this. It’s about real Portuguese food, in a down-to-earth environment.”

Quote by Zara Quiroga

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Zara Quiroga

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“Through a chink in my fingers, I watched Mel react. She fished around in her sock, producing a switchblade. She clicked it open and whipped it through the air. The steel blade caught the sunlight, and flashed. Then she tore after the creature, squealing and hoofing as it had. It looked up at her in dismay, and I partially pitied it, pitied the terror on its homely face. She swiped the blade across its side as it attempted to turn around, its legs scrabbling, its pudgy body squirming and twitching, trying in vain to push through the dense tangle. Mel had a chance to knife it again—I could see her debating whether she should, but she wiped the bloody blade against her sock instead. The injured creature finally made headway into the creepers. Another squeal, and then its backside and tufted tail disappeared into the undergrowth. Shuddering, I moved my hands from my face. I stared at Mel. I tried to breathe. The pig’s blood looked bright and alarming against the grimy cotton of her sock. FROM DAMSELFLY “Will it die?” I whispered. “I didn’t get it very deep. I should have killed it. Killed it before it killed you.”

Young AdultAsianMultiracialYalitMixedDamselflyScholasticChandra Prasad
Author:Chandra Prasad
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“An insect hovers nearby. She can't remember what it's called: smaller than a dragonfly, with delicate mother-of-pearl wings. It skims the surface of the beck. She stays like that for a long time, listening to the birds, the water, the insects. She shuts her eyes, opening them again when she feels something brush her hand. The dragonfly-like creature with the iridescent wings. The word swims up from the depths of her brain: a damselfly. Tears well in her eyes, surprising her. She was fascinated by insects as a child. She remembers begging her mother to spare the moths that fluttered out from wardrobes, the gauzy spider's webs that clung to the ceiling. She'd collected vividly illustrated books about them. About birds, too. She would hide under the covers reading, in the small, silent hours of the morning while her parents slept in the next room. It hurts now, to think of that little girl, her innocent wonder: flashlight in hand, turning the glossy pages and marveling at the wild and wonderful creatures. Butterflies with eyes on their wings, parrots in candy-colored plumage.”

InsectsBirdsChildhood MemoriesChildlike WonderDamselfly
Book:Weyward
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“As I write, in early July 2025, threatening plumes of smoke sweep across the horizon. Dava Moor, twelve miles from Laikenbuie Ecology Trust, is on fire. The wildfire currently spans over nine miles. As well as the terrible impact on local people, I grieve for the animals. Endangered northern damselflies and white-faced darters live in lochs now surrounded by flames. Never has it felt more pressing to restore health to our habitats and increase Scotland's resilience to climate change.”

Climate ChangeEndangered SpeciesWildfire2025DamselflyDarterDava MoorLochanMorayMuirburn
Book:Reforesting Scotland 72: Autumn/Winter 2025
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“El camino de vuelta hacia Dios es un camino de esfuerzo moral, de intentarlo cada vez con más empeño. Pero en otro sentido, no es el esfuerzo lo que nos va a llevar de vuelta a casa. Todo este esfuerzo nos lleva a ese momento vital en el que nos volvemos a Dios y le decimos: «Tú debes hacerlo. Yo no puedo.» No empecéis, os lo imploro, a preguntaros: «¿He llegado yo a ese momento?» No os sentéis a contemplar vuestra mente para ver si va haciendo progresos. Eso le desvía mucho a uno. Cuando ocurren las cosas más importantes de nuestra vida, a menudo no sabemos, en ese momento, lo que está sucediendo. Un hombre no se dice a menudo: «¡Vaya! Estoy madurando.» Muchas veces es sólo cuando mira hacia atrás cuando se da cuenta de lo que ha ocurrido y lo reconoce como lo que la gente llama «madurar».”

DiosCristianismoEspiritualidadFeTeologíaAbandonoEsfuerzoMadurezMoralidadMadurar
Book:Mere Christianity
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“Me dejaba llevar sin moderación de las pasiones humanas! Así era yo en aquel tiempo. Me enardecía, suspiraba, lloraba y me turbaba, sin descanso ni consejo. Así iba cargando mi alma destrozada y sangrante, que no se dejaba cargar, y yo no sabía en dónde ponerla. A ti, Señor, debía ser elevada para ser curada. Yo sabía esto, pero ni quería ni podía; cuando pensaba en ti no eras para mí algo firme y sólido, sino un vacío fantasma. Pero eso, fantasma era, no tú; y mi error era mi dios. Era yo para mí mismo un lugar de desdicha en el cual no podía estar y del cual no me podía evadir. ¿Cómo podía mi corazón huir de sí mismo, y adónde iría yo que él no me siguiera?”

DiosFilosofíaTristezaCorazónSufrimientoTeologíaMadurezSanaciónPasionesImagen De Dios
Book:Confessions
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