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P Quotes

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“Pangea may have been a united landmass, but its treacherous weather and extreme climates gave it a dangerous unpredictability. It wouldn’t have been a particularly safe or pleasant place to call home. But the very first dinosaurs had no choice. They entered a world still recovering from the terrible mass extinction at the end of the Permian, a land subject to the violent whims of storms and the blight of blistering temperatures. So did many other new types of plants and animals that were getting their start after the mass extinction cleared the planet. All of these newbies were thrust onto an evolutionary battlefield. It was far from certain that dinosaurs were going to emerge triumphant. After all, they were small and meek creatures, nowhere near the top of the food chain during their earliest years. They were hanging around with lots of other species of small-to-midsize reptiles, early mammals, and amphibians in the middle of the food pyramid, fearful of the crocodile-line archosaurs, who held the throne. Nothing was handed to the dinosaurs. They were going to have to earn it.”

“PANGKUR : (Fragmentarium 20 Tikaman Sunyi) 1 Petir sumbang. Langit menegang, pelat baja dipalu dari sisi terdalamnya. 2 Hujan turun cairan asam: mengikis mata wajah tinggal topeng tanpa riwayat. 3 Dunia: arca yang disembah oleh bayang-bayang sendiri. Kesadaran: batu yang tak lagi mengingat wujudnya. 4 Musim menggeram. Setiap butir air menyimpan dendam yang tidak meminta ampun. 5 Manusia menelanjangi nama sendiri. Makian. Ancaman. Pisau tersembunyi di sela sendi. 6 Belati membelah tanah. Anak Adam melukail tidak membunuh, hanya memastikan yang lain masih berdarah. 7 Kemanusiaan menjadi kabut: ruh melayang, mencari raga yang hilang. 8 Abu menyelimuti wajah. Rambut kaku berdiri kawat meregang luka. 9 Nyeri merayap ke dasar tengkorak, seperti kawanan semut tersesat di rongga telinga. 10 Genderang perang bertalu. Langit menganga— menelan semua gerhana. 11 Di tanah ini, mimpi mati terlebih dulu. Merpati jatuh tertembak peluru gagal mengirim pesan. 12 Hujan tidak bernyanyi. Cuaca patah. Waktu terbelah. Bumi mengerut menjadi bangkai di paruh gagak. 13 Dubuk mencabik serpihan nama. Sejarah runtuh sebelum sempat ditulis. 14 Duri menajamkan bulu mata. Setiap helai rambut menghitung hari kematian dengan ketelitian seorang algojo. 15 Isak terperangkap, ruang tak mengenal waktu. Jerit menjadi kubur, cat mengelupas di dinding bunker. 16 Manusia lelah mencari nama. Nama lelah mencari manusia. 17 Peradaban tenggelam tanpa suara. Jelaga menggambar kerangka kota yang lupa asal-usulnya. 18 Siluet hantu melintas sunyi dengan mata menyala, bukan karena amarah— hanya tak punya tempat untuk kembali. 19 Mawar diinjak tanpa ritual. Tanpa pamit. Tanpa air mata. 20 Sunyi pecah. Waktu retak. Detak berhenti lalu diam, seperti kerikil kehilangan gravitasi. Desember 2025”

“PANGKUR: Tubuh yang Ditanggalkan Cuaca Langit pecah. Bumi menerima sisanya: mayat cuaca yang membeku di atas punggung manusia. Air turun tanpa ampun—bukan hujan, melainkan penderitaan yang kehilangan tempat berpijak. Tubuh-tubuh tergeletak seperti huruf-huruf patah yang tak sanggup lagi membentuk doa. Di sela retakan tanah, ada bisik yang mungkin hembusan terakhir napas Tuhan yang kelelahan, atau hanya suara angin yang menolak membawa nama-nama kita. Air melesat dari segala penjuru seperti pemburu mengejar mangsa, melumpuhkan harapan, ingatan, kemanusiaan. Ia turun sebagai fenomena, bukan pesan atau teguran: sebagai kadar yang tak tertanggungkan. Air mata membeku seperti tulang tua. Jalan tenggelam dalam dendam. Setiap langkah memantulkan gema dari sesuatu yang lama mati, tapi belum selesai dikuburkan: hutan ingatan. Rimbun cahaya bergulung seperti batang kayu terpenggal di bawah cahaya yang dingin. Angka mengambang ratusan jumlahnya serupa wajah-wajah saling melewati tanpa saling mengenal, seolah mata mereka terbuat dari beling yang baru saja diangkat dari perut api. Ribuan gergaji jatuh di tanah. Tak ada suara. Hanya getarnya yang merayap di pori-pori bumi, menyentuh dengkul manusia yang tiba-tiba ingin runtuh. Kata-kata saling menikam di layar kaca tanpa niat, tanpa dendam pribadi. Hanya refleks dari kelelahan yang terlalu tua, terlalu lama menunggu belas kasihan dari langit yang kini berlubang sebesar telapak tangan raksasa. Di mata kita, luka mengeras seperti kerak besi. Di dada kita, sesak berkibar seperti bendera yang setengah ditelan lumpur. Manusia berjalan seperti bangkai yang belum selesai dikremasi, menyisakan bau asin kemanusiaan yang remuk. Segala keegoisan berhamburan di jalan: orang-orang saling mendahului, saling memotong napas, berebut udara seakan oksigen hanya untuk satu dada. Kedunguan merayap di ubun-ubun seperti jamur hitam yang tumbuh pada bangkai pohon tumbang. Ada bayi diangkat dari air— suara tangisnya pendek, hampir mirip batuk rejan. Ada ibu yang memeluk nama anaknya tanpa bisa lagi menemukan tubuhnya. Di kejauhan, seekor anjing berdiri di atas atap rumah— matanya merah, bukan karena marah, tapi karena dunia telah menolak mengenangnya. Mawar liar terhanyut di selokan: keindahan yang diinjak tanpa sengaja, tanpa rasa. Air melahap kelopaknya secepat manusia melupakan peristiwa. Bau bangkai menyelinap ke bulu mata. Pekat lumpur bercampur asin keringat, menempel seperti dendam tua yang tak pernah berhasil ditebus oleh siapa pun. Meraba denyut lirih paru-paru bumi yang tersengal seperti ingin berhenti bernapas. Baru menyadari— yang tenggelam bukan hanya tubuh, melainkan sisa kesadaran yang dulu pernah menyebut dirinya manusia. Desember 2025”

“Panic- and rage. That was all he knew as he shot down into the heart of the pit, spearing for that ancient darkness that had once shaken him to his very marrow. Nesta was there- and Feyre. It was the former her saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe- She let out a small, animal sound- like some wounded stag- as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and dishevelled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching- She gripped his leathers instead. 'Feyre,' she rasped, pointing behind her with a free hand, shaking him solidly with the other. Strength- such untapped strength in that slim, beautiful body. 'Hybern.' That was all he needed to hear. He drew his sword- then Rhys was arrowing for them, his power like a gods-damned volcanic eruption. Cassian charged ahead into the gloom, following the screaming-”

“Panic strikes me when I think about a sentence that isn’t given the chance to live because I don’t have a pen in my hand or am not sitting near enough to someone familiar to speak it to. Especially if it’s a particularly good sentence, a sentence with truth or beauty or humor or sadness to it. The best ones always take you by surprise. They sneak into your head while you’re walking down the aisles at a supermarket, or flat-out assault you when you’re at your grandmother’s funeral, and you have to scramble to give the thought life before it’s gone forever. Cocktail napkins, palms, text messages sent to yourself.”

“Panic. You open your mouth. Open it so wide your jaws creak. You order your lungs to draw air, NOW, you need air, need it NOW. But your airways ignore you. They collapse, tighten, squeeze, and suddenly you're breaithing through a drinking straw. Your mouth closes and your lips purse and all you can manage is a croak. Your hands wriggle and shake. Somewhere a dam has cracked open and a flood of cold sweat spills, drenches your body. You want to scream. You would if you could. Cut you have to breathe to scream. Panic.”

“Panic: A highly underrated capacity thanks to which individuals are able to indicate clearly that something is wrong. Given their head, most humans panic with great dignity and imagination. This can be called democratic expression or practical common sense.”

“Panics, in some cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind soon grows through them and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstone of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might have lain forever undiscovered.”

“Panisses, those chickpea fritters sold by vendors on every street corner, and served with harissa, tomatoes, or roasted halloumi, or grilled sardines; navettes, the little orange-flower biscuits Louis serves with coffee; fougasse, that crispy Provençal bread, enriched with olive oil and herbs; pieds paquets in spicy tomato sauce; olive tapenade with salt lemon confit.It feels good to learn, and Louis admits that I may have an aptitude. He has grown warmer towards me. The customers are happy. I am even allowed officially to handle the book of recipes. Each one has a story. This tapenade is the first thing she made, when she was only eight years old, in her grandmother's kitchen. This is her mother's clafoutis, made with the fat yellow cherries from the tree at the back of the garden. And these pomponettes are what she made for the guests on her wedding day; scented with orange blossom and sprinkled with nuts and sugar. Orange is the scent of hope, she writes in hasty handwriting. A promise of something small and sweet. A vow, built from spun sugar and dreams, melting in the sunlight.”

“Pannenberg understands God as Trinity to be at work in the world, both continually appearing in history as the “arrival” of the immediate future and as reaching back from the eschatological future to the Easter event in order to transform the world into the New Creation. In a breathtaking move, Pannenberg thematizes the latter as “prolepsis”: although the New Creation still lies in our future, or more correctly in the “future of our future,” the Easter event is already and normatively a manifestation in our time and history of what is the not-yet still-future eschatological-apocalyptic destiny for all the world.”

“Pans and other such objects are the very opposite of monuments. They don't commemorate revolutions or victories on the battlefield; don't allude to great contracts or those moments of upheaval that have an undeniably transformative effect on society. It's rarely possible to link them to one specific date, to say: 'From that day on, everything was different.' They belong not to the so-called big picture of history but instead to a realm that is far more intimate. Quiet, and overlooked. A realm that was long considered female--and, accordingly, insignificant.”

“Pansy rolled over and went to sleep, but Petunia stayed awake long after Olga left, and long after Oliver crawled out from under the bed, grabbed some sandwiches, and slipped out the door. She hoped that he was going to Galen and Rose's room, and she hoped, too that he hadn't known she was awake when he had leaned over and kissed her hair. She wanted to savor that touch forever.”