“It is a delicious moment, certainly, that of being well nestled in bed, and feeling that you shall drop gently to sleep. The good is to come, not past; the limbs have just been tired enough to render the remaining in one posture delightful; the labour of the day is gone” WellsEnoughMomentsFeelingsPastSleepGoneBedTiredLabourDelightfulDeliciousLimbsPosture Book:The Indicator Source: The Indicator
“I wonder, whether, if I had had any education I should have been more, or less, of a fool than I am. It would have deprived me surely of those exquisite moments of mental flatulence which every now and then inflate the cerebral vacuum with a delicious sense of latent possibilities-of stretching oneself to cosmic limits, and who would ever give up the reality of dreams for relative knowledge?” IfsGivingShouldHas BeensMomentsDreamRealityWonderPossibilityFoolLimitsGiving UpShould HaveOneselfRelativeCosmicNow And ThenDeliciousDeprivedExquisiteShould Have BeenVacuumsStretchingLatentCerebralFlatulence Book:Her Brothers Her Journal Source: Her Brothers Her Journal
“When some people look at a shrimp they think, "Hmm. Delicious." When I look at a shrimp I think, "You're a miracle, absolutely incredible. Your ancestors have gone back hundreds of millions of years." And to develop a thing as simple as a shrimp cocktail, you have to calculate the hundreds of millions of years that have preceded that moment where you're sitting there with your sauce and fork poised.” PeopleThinkingYearsLooksMomentsSimpleMillionsGoneSittingMiracleIncrediblesThat MomentAncestorDeliciousSauceCocktailsForksHmmShrimp Author:Sylvia Earle
“Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.” WritingMomentsHandsPleasureTalkingFoodFineMouthsCookingCulinaryThroatDeliciousStrawberriesNectarines Book:The Complete Works of John Keats Source: The Complete Works of John Keats