Bash Echo Quotes

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Their voices echoed over the stream and along the edge of the trees. She saw the tail end of a smile on Oscar’s lips. “I thought you didn’t like to sing,” she said. He’d always remained silent while the crew sang their sea chanteys. “I don’t,” Oscar said. “But you have a pretty voice.” His compliment shaped a bashful smile onto her lips. She was glad for the firelight, already casting a reddish glow to her skin. “And what ‘bout me, mate?” Ira asked. “Couldn’t say. I was trying to block it out,” Oscar replied.
Angie Frazier (Everlasting (Everlasting, #1))
The carcass was still warm - barely a few minutes dead, with the blood clotting on the ugly wound on its head where Pinchez had bashed it in with a brick.
Stanley Gazemba (Bahati Books) (Nairobi Echoes)
So they sometimes think it would be easier to unwind the heliocentric centuries and go back to the years of a divine and hulking earth around which all things orbited – the sun, the planets, the universe itself. You’d need far more distance from the earth than they have to find it insignificant and small; to really understand its cosmic place. Yet it’s clearly not that kingly earth of old, a Godgiven clod too stout and stately to be able to move about the ballroom of space; no. Its beauty echoes – its beauty is its echoing, its ringing singing lightness. It’s not peripheral and it’s not the centre; it’s not everything and it’s not nothing, but it seems much more than something. It’s made of rock but appears from here as gleam and ether, a nimble planet that moves three ways – in rotation on its axis, at a tilt on its axis, and around the sun. This planet that’s been relegated out of the centre and into the sidelines – the thing that goes around rather than is gone around, except for by its knobble of moon. This thing that harbours us humans who polish the ever-larger lenses of our telescopes that tell us how ever-smaller we are. And we stand there gaping. And in time we come to see that not only are we on the sidelines of the universe but that it’s of a universe of sidelines, that there is no centre, just a giddy mass of waltzing things, and that perhaps the entirety of our understanding consists of an elaborate and ever-evolving knowledge of our own extraneousness, a bashing away of mankind’s ego by the instruments of scientific enquiry until it is, that ego, a shattered edifice that lets light through.
Samantha Harvey (Orbital)