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“Lakini, akiendelea kuwaza na kuangaza, ghafla Murphy aliona kitu kama gari likiwa limesimama kwa mbali. Alisimama na kupata hamu ya kujua. Murphy alianza tena kutembea, lakini sasa akiifuata ile gari, halafu akaongeza mwendo na kukimbia; macho yote yakiwa mbele! Alipofika, karibu na gari ile, hakuminya kifyatulio kumpiga mtu risasi. Alijenga tabasamu na kuongeza mwendo. Gari ilikuwa Ferrari Testarrosa ya Lisa Madrazo Graciano!”

“Lakini damu na maji vina maana kubwa katika maisha yetu. Biblia inaeleza kuwa wakati Yesu Kristo akiwa msalabani alichomwa ubavu wake kwa mkuki, ikatoka damu na maji, ndipo zilipozaliwa sakramenti za kanisa. Aidha, tukio la askari wa Kirumi kumchoma Yesu na damu na maji kutoka lina maana nyingine kubwa katika maisha yetu. Hapo ndipo Ukristo ulipozaliwa; na ni kwa sababu hiyo mwanamke anapojifungua hutoa damu na maji kutokana na kupasuka kwa utando wa mfuko wa uzazi. Kutokana na hayo, Wakristo wanapoabudu msalaba wanaeleza umuhimu wa matukio na mafundisho waliyopata kupitia mateso aliyopata kiongozi wao na kuwa, msalaba ni chombo cha ukombozi.”

“Lakini kabla Rais hajaendelea kuongea, na ‘John Murphy wa Kolonia Santita’, Mogens aliruka na kumnyang’anya simu. “Ambilikile,” Mogens aliita, akiangalia saa. “Brodersen,” Sauti ya upande wa pili ilijibu, baada ya sekunde kumi. “60111906,” Mogens alisema, baada ya sekunde kumi. “57121906,” Sauti ya upande wa pili ikajibu, baada ya sekunde kumi. “Jumapili,” Mogens aliendelea, baada ya sekunde kumi. “Ijumaa,” Sauti ya upande wa pili ikajibu, baada ya sekunde kumi. John Murphy wa Kolonia Santita aliposema ‘Ijumaa’, Mogens aliunda kicheko na kurusha mkono katika matundu ya kuongelea ya simu ...”

“Lakini kuna ndoto takatifu na kuna ndoto za kishetani. Ndoto takatifu hutokea wakati akili imetulia baada ya mwili wote kupumzika, kama ambavyo usiku unavyokuwa kimya na kila kitu kimetulia, karibu na saa za alfajiri, ambapo mfumo wa usagaji chakula unakuwa umemaliza kazi yake. Kipindi hicho malaika wa Mungu hutufunulia siri kuhusu ulimwengu huu, ili kwamba tutakapoamka asubuhi tuwe na baadhi ya maarifa yaliyojificha ndani ya maandiko ya vitabu vitakatifu; kwa sababu malaika wa Mungu ndiye anayetawala ufahamu wetu, kama ambavyo Mungu anavyotawala hiari yetu, na kama ambavyo nyota zinavyotawala miili yetu. Lakini kwa wale waliokomaa kiimani malaika mwema anaweza kuwafunulia siri wakati wowote, haijalishi wamelala au wameamka. Kwa ajili ya ujanja wa Shetani ndiyo maana Mungu hutufunulia siri zake, ili tujihadhari naye.”

“Lakini ukweli ni upi? Ukweli ni kwamba utajiri una changamoto nyingi kuupata na kuudumisha pia kuliko usomi na kwamba ukweli ni amani ya Mungu katika moyo wa mwanadamu. Heri msomi kuliko tajiri – Heri yule aliyesoma kuliko tajiri asiyesoma au yule aliyesoma kuliko vile alivyosoma tajiri au tajiri asiyesoma au aliyesoma lakini asiyekuwa na tamaa kabisa na dunia hii ambaye kukosa kwake tamaa na dunia hii kunamfanya msomi. Ndivyo Kristo anavyomaanisha. Si kwamba tajiri hawezi kuuona ufalme wa mbinguni. Ibrahimu, Isaka, Yakobo, Yusufu, Daudi, Sulemani, Yehoshafati, Hezekia, Zakayo, Yoana, Susana, na Lidia watauona ufalme wa mbinguni na walikuwa matajiri. Mali zao zilivyozidi hawakuangalia moyoni, hawakuwa na tamaa kabisa na dunia hii, bali walimtumaini Mungu kwa kila kitu walichokuwa nacho. Anaweza. Lakini asiipende dunia bali ayapende mambo ya ufalme wa Mungu kwa moyo wake wote.”

“Lakoff's idea is that most of our thought is guided by underlying conceptual mappings between two domains that share some content, that overlap in the sets of their attributes. ... Contrary to the assertions of Lakoff and some of the cognitive metaphor theorists, people can read through to an underlying mapping, but only when the surface metaphor is new to them.”

“Laksa curry, did you say? That is a Southeast Asian dish known for its exceptionally slippery noodles. And I expect squid ink was used to give the roux this black color." "But this utterly repulsive and vomit-inducing stench! Don't tell me you used-" "Yes. It's Kusaya." "I KNEW IT! What kind of garbage does this girl think goes in food?!" KUSAYA Salted dried fish, it originated in the Izu Islands. Blueback fish, like mackerel or flying fish, are soaked in a salty, sticky brine called Kusaya Jiru and then sun dried. IT REEKS. "Just grilling the stuff is enough to get you a pile of complaints from all your neighbors!" "Ugh. Boiling it down makes the stench even more repugnant." "This is my special handmade Kusaya! I used flying fish and mahi-mahi... ... and then soaked them in Kusaya Jiru I carefully, preciously refined over and over!”

“LAKSAMANA PERKASA DI BAWAH TINTA WAKTU (Reinterpretasi dari Hikayat Hang Tuah) I. Muara dan Takdir yang Terukir Selat Malaka, denyut nadi dunia, membasuh pusara takdir. Bukan sekadar pohon, hikayat tegak dari akar Berbintang Tujuh, Berkat Sendayang—izin langit dan azimat pelaut—pelepah kelapa, menjadi layar bahtera para perantau dari hulu sungai ke kuala. Naskah lama, kitab undang-undang laut, lama tersaput debu di gudang aksara. Di tangan para pandai besi yang tak hanya menempa badik, keris, dan kelewang, mereka merajah rembulan sebagai panji, matahari sebagai sumpah janji setia. Di mana pernah berdiri pondok nelayan, gubuk reyot penuh cahaya rembulan, konon dari rahimnya terlahir Laksamana Agung yang menandingi kedigdayaan Patih Gajah Mada. Ah, betapa payah bagi lidah patik untuk mengukir riwayat itu sekali lagi. II. Pelayaran Tujuh Angin dan Dilema Keadilan Laut, mata air peradaban yang tak pernah terpejam, kini merangkai epik hikayat itu. Sang Bentara Gagah, bukan menunggang gajah bertelinga lebar, melainkan Naga Sembilan, Mengayun langkah dari puncak Gunung Ledang, menembus kabut Awan Pualam. Mengayuh armada melintasi Pulau Pinang hingga Tumasik Singapura yang telah bersalin nama. Ia mendarat di Pantai Barat Semenanjung, di bawah Musim Angin Barat yang mematikan. Saat pintu langit terbuka, ia dan empat sahabatnya melangkah tanpa terhalang. Setiap langkahnya adalah tinta waktu yang mencatat takdir negeri di atas lembaran daun lontar. Ia menyaksikan betapa, lima pemuda kampung sanggup menaklukkan sekawanan perompak. Namun di antara kemenangan itu, ia merenung dengan getir di hati yang berkarat: “Negeri ini berlimpah pahlawan dan harta karun tujuh muara yang tiada ternilai, tapi mengapa rakyat jelata masih memanggul beban kemiskinan yang tiada terperi?” III. Prasasti Kebijaksanaan dan Hutan Belantara Moral Kapal perompak itu karam, bukan pada batu biasa, tapi pada batu bersurat. Ia menjelma prasasti takdir, tertanam di dasar samudra. Ikatan mati yang bukan simpul, tapi sayap garuda tunggal yang telah gugur. Batu hitam bukan bersanding, tapi batu meteorit yang jatuh di tanah Pelinggam. Kekuatan pedang tak sebatas gerinda, tapi tuah keris tiga warisan yang bernyawa. Ia tak lagi terbang, tapi arwah Nusantara terus mengitari delapan penjuru angin, demi menaklukkan seribu pulau jajahan, menyatukan lima suku bangsa. Namun jantungnya kini tertambat pada hasrat untuk menjadi pohon kokoh kehidupan, berdaun rimbun Cendana, berdahan sekuat Jati Melaka, berbuah Kearifan Raja-raja. Betapa ia lupa, negerinya adalah rimbalaya yang sunyi di bawah bulan. Di mana serigala kekuasaan mencuri, singa buas menindas kawanan yang lemah, dan gajah-gajah tuli bertahta di dalam istana yang tak sanggup mendengar. IV. Epilog dan Rumah Keabadian Kisah ini tak mungkin tuntas, sebab jemari dingin terasa ingin mencekik leher sendiri, sebagaimana senja berdarah dan kabut likat di Bukit St. Paul yang menyelimuti, saat Hang Tuah mengakhiri riwayat Hang Jebat dengan satu tusukan Keris Taming Sari. Keris itu bukan menancap di dada, tapi berumah di pusaran batin sahabat sejati. Biarkan mata kosmik yang nyalang itu menemukan halaman terakhir hikayat, Menyelubungi jasad yang terbujur dengan selimut leluhur—kain tenun songket emas, dan mengirim ruhnya menuju rumah keabadian di puncak Gunung Ledang. Barangkali dengan cara seperti ini, kita akan terhindar dari tikaman kemalangan sejarah. Barangkali dengan cara serupa itulah, kita, para pembaca yang sunyi ini dapat merangkul kebenaran sejati yang telah lama tenggelam di Selat Malaka. Jakarta, Januari 2014 (rekonstruksi ulang)”

“Lalu, muka Narso yang berlabuh di lehernya itu menundukkan dalam penyerahan dan pejam mata. Waktu itu apa lagi yang akan dikerjakannya lain daripada itu. Ia tak berdaya apa-apa. Ia bertindak atas naluri dan detak jantungnya. Sesuatu yang telah ia bawa sejak lahir dan tiba-tiba menuntut jalannya keluar. Begitu mendesak dan segalanya itu di luar kuasanya. Dan, cintanya yang besar makin memudahkan ia luruh dalam penyerahan yang bulat tanpa tanggung-tanggung.”

“Lament is not anti-hope. It's not even a stepping stone to hope. Lament itself is a form of hope. It's an innate awareness that what is should not be. As if something is written on our hearts that tells us exactly what we are meant for, and whenever confronted with something contrary to this, we experience a crumbling. And in the rubble we say "God, you promised.”

“Lament is not anti-hope. It's not even a stepping-stone to hope. Lament itself is a form of hope. It's an innate awareness that what is should not be. As if something is written on our hearts that tells us exactly what we are meant for, and whenever confronted with something contrary to this, we experience a crumbling. And in the rubble, we say, God, you promised. We ask, Why?”

“Lament's trot soon became a canter. Her canter, a gallop. The forest blurred around them as they picked up speed, blazing through copses and thickets, the rhythm of the horse's hooves drumming like thunder. Despite the stinging wind crushing past them, it wasn't cold. Heat radiated from Lament's black coat, and when Emeline looked down she found red flames flickering in the horse's mane. Tongues of fire engulfed Emeline's fingers, licking her skin. She jerked hand free, staring in horror. But her fingers were unsinged. Holy cats! Was Lament an ember mare? It was impossible. The wild, unearthly horses were forged of fire and said to be uncatchable. Untamable. In no story she knew had one ever been ridden. But Emeline had thought shadow skins impossible too. The pungent tang of smoke smoldered in the air. They were out of the Stain---nothing dead surrounded them here. The forest was lush and green and living. But in the distance, Emeline saw red. Fire. It surged toward them from the right, spreading quickly. Emeline was about to cry out in alarm, in case the boy at her back hadn't seen it, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Hundreds of them. Pummeling the earth in time with Lament's. Wait. Emeline squinted into the distance. It wasn't a forest fire advancing on them. It was a massive herd of ember mares. Their black bodies raged red, like burning coal, and their manes smoldered with bright flames. They were stampeding, headed straight for Lament with no sign of slowing or stopping.”

“Lamentations comfort only by lacerating the heart still more. Such grief does not desire consolation. It feeds on the sense of its hopelessness. Lamentations spring only from the constant craving to re-open the wound.”

“Laments of an Icarus The paramours of courtesans Are well and satisfied, content. But as for me my limbs are rent Because I clasped the clouds as mine. I owe it to the peerless stars Which flame in the remotest sky That I see only with spent eyes Remembered suns I knew before. In vain I had at heart to find The center and the end of space. Beneath some burning, unknown gaze I feel my very wings unpinned And, burned because I beauty loved, I shall not know the highest bliss, And give my name to the abyss Which waits to claim me as its own.”