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Fleur of Yesterday

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Susan L. Marshall

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“Gusts of fiery winds blow, blasting a furnace of heat. The air rings with the shrill screams of my beloved carnations. Rising and falling, they shed their flower heads upon the worn, foot trodden dirt. Staring up, their heads smile sadly, their petals shedding tears. Rolling across the planks, they reach out for me. The carnation flower's scent is fragrant in the breeze. It wakes me so I escape the dark world of dreams.”

EnvironmentMysteryMetaphorFlowersConservationNature S BeautySpiritual ConnectionDark DreamsNatural SpiritCarnation Scent
Book:Fleur of Yesterday
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“Juicy apple, pear, and banana, Gooseberry ... They all speak of Death and life in the mouth ... I have a presentiment ... Read it from a child’s expression If she savours them. It comes from far, from far ... Aren’t you slowly becoming aware of something inexpressible in your mouth? Where a moment ago were words, a flowing discovery Is released, startling, from the fruit’s flesh. Venture to say what your apple is called. This sweetness, which originally condensed itself, Spreading out, slowly in being tasted rose up To achieve a clarity, awake and of transparency, Resonant of opposites, sunny, earthy, of the here and now -: Oh the experience of it, the feeling, the joy -, immense!”

MetaphorLife And DeathAppleFruit Quotes
Book:Sonnets to Orpheus
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“There are a lot of things that aren’t your fault. OR mine, either. Not the fault of prophecies, or curses, or DNA, or absurdity. We all die and disappear, but that’s because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss. Our lives are just shadows of the guiding principle. Say the wind blows. It can be strong, violent wind or a gentle breeze. But eventually, every kind of wind dies out and disappears. Wind doesn’t have form. It’s just a movement of air.”

Life LessonsMetaphor
Author:Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
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“I wonder if the hypochondriac him or herself is a metaphor, a condensed node of ideas about illness crushed together into one individual. I am pressed between these layers of meaning like a flower preserved between the pages of a book, trapped in narratives about my sickness that have already been written.”

MetaphorIllnessNarrativeMeaningHealth AnxietyIllness As Metaphor
Book:A Body Made of Glass: A Cultural History of Hypochondria – A Revelatory Medical Memoir and Biography of Health Anxiety
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“The people here had grown emaciated with hunger and toil, and the walls of their houses sighed with grief and sorrow. All the lovely flowers of this land had been transplanted to the palace to delight the eyes of the sovereign's consort, while the plump boars had been taken and served to please her sophisticated tastes. And so, the tranquil spring sun shone in vain on the grey, deserted streets of the city. And, perched atop a hill in the centre, the palace, shining with the five colours of the rainbow, towered over the corpse of the capital like a beast of prey.”

MetaphorTyrannyInequalityExploitationDesolation
Book:The Siren’s Lament: Essential Stories
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