“But words have been used too often; touched and turned, and left exposed to the dust of the street. The words we seek hang close to the tree. We come at dawn and find them sweet beneath the leaf.” Has BeensUsedLeftTreeStreetsSweetDustDawnTouchedExposedLeafs Book:Selected Works of Virginia Woolf Source: Selected Works of Virginia Woolf
“August is ripening grain in the fields blowing hot and sunny, the scent of tree-ripened peaches, of hot buttered sweet corn on the cob. Vivid dahlias fling huge tousled blossoms through gardens and joe-pye-weed dusts the meadow purple.” TreeFieldsSweetHugeGardenHotDustWeedGrainScentPurpleVividCornSunnyAugustMeadowsFlingPeachesRipeningDahliasCorn On The CobSweet Corn Book:The Shape of a Year Source: The Shape of a Year
“The truth is true wherever you find it. Remember, sugar is sweet whether you find it in a sugar bowl or a dust pan.” RememberSweetTruth IsDustSugarBowls Author:Ernest Holmes
“Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust.” KnowsHeartChildrenBodyEarthJoyMotherNightAsksHeavenBornSpaceSeaPoetSweetFlowerArmsBirthLimitsKissingEternalStriveHungerRhythmDustAsk MeMy ChildrenFulfilledStrifeSageTime And SpaceDay And NightBirth And DeathEvermoreTiptoes Author:Rabindranath Tagore
“He loved a book because it was a book; he loved its odor, its form, its title. What he loved in a manuscript was its old illegible date, the bizarre and strange Gothic characters, the heavy gilding which loaded its drawings. It was its pages covered with dust — dust of which he breathed the sweet and tender perfume with delight.” BookCharacterFormStrangeSweetPagesDelightHeavyDrawingDustTitlesCoveredBizarrePerfumeGothicLoadedManuscriptsOdor Author:Gustave Flaubert
“Death comes to me again, a girl in a cotton slip, barefoot, giggling. It’s not so terrible she tells me, not like you think, all darkness and silence. There are windchimes and the smell of lemons, some days it rains, but more often the air is dry and sweet. I sit beneath the staircase built from hair and bone and listen to the voices of the living. I like it, she says, shaking the dust from her hair, especially when they fight, and when they sing.” ThinkingGirlFightingVoiceSilenceDarknessAirSweetLike YouHairTerribleBuiltRainBonesSmellDustDrySlipsShakingCottonLemonsBarefootStaircases Book:Smoke: poems Source: Smoke: poems