Hibiscus Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Hibiscus. Here they are! All 200 of them:

We did that often, asking each other questions whose answers we already knew. Perhaps it was so that we would not ask the other questions, the ones whose answers we did not want to know.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There are people, she once wrote, who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time. It is like telling a crawling baby who tries to walk, and then falls back on his buttocks, to stay there. As if the adults walking past him did not all crawl, once.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The educated ones leave, the ones with the potential to right the wrongs. They leave the weak behind. The tyrants continue to reign because the weak cannot resist. Do you not see that it is a cycle? Who will break that cycle?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Being defiant can be a good thing sometimes," Aunty Ifeoma said. "Defiance is like marijuana - it is not a bad thing when it is used right.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
People have crushes on priests all the time, you know. It’s exciting to have to deal with God as a rival.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
...he did not want me to seek the whys, because there are some things that happen for which we can formulate no whys, for which whys simply do not exist and, perhaps, are not necessary.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I was stained by failure.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
You walk for days among trees and among stones. Rarely does the eye light on a thing, and then only when it has recognized that thing as the sign of another thing: a print in the sand indicates the tiger's passage; a marsh announces a vein of water; the hibiscus flower, the end of winter. All the rest is silent and interchangeable; trees and stones are only what they are.
Italo Calvino (Invisible Cities)
She seemed so happy, so at peace, and I wondered how anybody around me could feel that way when liquid fire was raging inside me, when fear was mingling with hope and clutching itself around my ankles.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
It was what Aunty Ifeoma did to my cousins, I realized then, setting higher and higher jumps for them in the way she talked to them, in what she expected of them. She did it all the time believing they would scale the rod. And they did. It was different for Jaja and me. We did not scale the rod because we believed we could, we scaled it because we were terrified that we couldn't.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I cannot control even the dreams that I have made.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Sometimes life begins when the marriage ends
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There was a helplessness to his joy, the same kind of helplessness as in that woman’s despair.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Eugene has to stop doing God's job. God is big enough to do his own job. If God will judge our father for choosing to follow the way of our ancestors, then let God do the judging, not Eugene.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Papa sat down at the table and poured his tea from the china tea set with pink flowers on the edges. I waited for him to ask Jaja and me to take a sip, as he always did. A love sip, he called it, because you shared the little things you loved with the people you love.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Military men would always overthrow one another, because they could, because they were all power drunk.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There is so much that is still silent between Jaja and me. Perhaps we will talk more with time, or perhaps we never will be able to say it all, to clothe things in words, things that have long been naked.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Fear. I was familiar with fear, yet each time I felt it, it was never the same as the other times, as though it came in different flavors and colors.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
To call him humble was to make rudeness normal. Besides, humility had always seemed to him a specious thing, invented for the comfort of others; you were praised for humility by people because you did not make them feel any more lacking than they already did. It was honesty that he valued; he had always wished himself to be truly honest, and always feared that he was not
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The white missionaries brought us their god,” Amaka was saying. “Which was the same color as them, worshiped in their language and packaged in the boxes they made. Now that we take their god back to them, shouldn’t we at least repackage it?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I often wondered why Sister Veronica needed to understand it, when it was simply the way things were done.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
We did not scale the rod because we believed we could, we scaled it because we were terrified that we couldn't.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
He spoke so effortlessly, as if his mouth were a musical instrument that just let sound out when touched, when opened.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I had examined him that day, too, looking away when his eyes met mine, for signs of difference, of godlessness. I didn't see any, but I was sure they were there somewhere. They had to be.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There are people, she once wrote, who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The night-soil men can see a bird walking in trees. It isn't a bird. It is a woman who has removed her skin and is on her way to drink the blood of her secret enemies. It is a woman who has left her skin i a corner of a house made out of wood. It is a woman who is reasonable and admires honeybees in the hibiscus.
Jamaica Kincaid (At the Bottom of the River)
her body feels different, no longer taut and sinewy but sponge-like fluid. Saturated. It has a different energy, a deep orangy-like pink, like the inside of a hibiscus.
Margaret Atwood (The Robber Bride)
I want to hold his hand, but I know he will shake it free. His eyes are too full of guilt to really see me, to see his reflection in my eyes, the reflection of my hero, the brother who tried always to protect me the best he could. He will never think that he did enough, and he will never understand that I do not think he should have done more.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Sitting under the candlenut tree in the courtyard is pleasant in the afternoon. Laced in shadows, frangipani & coral hibiscus ward away the memory of recent evil. The sisters go about their duties, Sister Martinique tends her vegetables, the cats enact their feline comedies & tragedies.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
As we drove back to Enugu, I laughed loudly,above Fela's stringent singing. I laughed because Nsukka's untarred roads coat cars with dust in the harmattan and with sticky mud in the rainy season. Because the tarred roads spring potholes like surprise presents and the air smells of hills and history and the sunlight scatters the sand and turns it into gold dust. Because Nsukka could free something deep inside your belly that would rise up to your throat and come out as freedom song. As laughter.(299)
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I thought then of catechism classes, about chanting the answer to a question, an answer that was "because he has said it and his word is true." I could not remember the question.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Today, while Mother was watching me work, she suddenly remarked, “They say that people who like summer flowers die in the summer. I wonder if it’s true.” I did not answer but went on watering the eggplants. It is already the beginning of summer. She continued softly, “I am very fond of hibiscus, but we haven’t a single one in this garden.” “We have plenty of oleanders,” I answered in an intentionally sharp tone. “I don’t like them. I like almost all summer flowers, but oleanders are too loud.” “I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.” We both laughed.
Osamu Dazai
One day I said to them, Where is the God you worship? They said he was like Chukwu, that he was in the sky. I asked then, Who is the person that was killed, the person that hangs on the wood outside the mission? They said he was the son, but that the son and the father are equal. It was then that I knew that the white man was mad. The father and son are equal? Tufia! Do you not see?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Seattle rain smells different from New Orleans rain... New Orleans rain smells of sulfur and hibiscus, trumpet metal, thunder and sweat. Seattle rain, the widespread rain of the Great Northwest, smells of green ice and sumi ink, of geology and silence and minnow breath.
Tom Robbins
I savor these moments. They sit tart and bright and sweet on my tongue like the taste of hibiscus tea with honey. From these moments I can cultivate gratitude and from gratitude I distill grace.
Sophfronia Scott (On Being 40(ish))
I can remember every second of that morning, if I shut my eyes I can see the deep blue colour of the sky and the mango leaves, the pink and red hibiscus, the yellow handkerchief she wore around her head, tied in the Martinique fashion with the sharp points in front, but now I see everything still, fixed for ever like the colours in a stained-glass window. Only the clouds move. It was wrapped in a leaf, what she had given me, and I felt it cool and smooth against my skin.
Jean Rhys (Wide Sargasso Sea)
He told her the story of the missionary's bride who wrote home describing her bungalow in an African forest clearing. "Outside my window as I write is a magnificent hibiscus with hundreds of blooms making a splendid splash of color against the jungle." A year later, she wrote again, and she said outside her window was that "damned hibiscus, still blooming.
William C. Heine (The Last Canadian)
Silence hangs over us, but it is a different kind of silence, one that lets me breathe. I have nightmares about the other kind, the silence of when Papa was alive.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
So you say. A woman with children and no husband, what is that?” “Me.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Food, racism, power, and justice are linked. What I’m trying to do is dismantle culinary nutritional imperialism and gastronomic white supremacy with one cup of zobo made from hibiscus, one bowl of millet salad with groundnuts and dark green vegetables, and one piece of injera at a time. The next wave of human rights abuse is in the form of nutrition injustice
Michael W. Twitty (The Cooking Gene: A Journey Through African American Culinary History in the Old South)
Things started to fall apart at home when my brother, Jaja, did not go to communion and Papa flung his heavy missal across the room and broke the figurines on the etagere.(Opening page, 3)
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
His letters dwell on me. I carry them around because they are long and detailed, because they remind me of my worthiness, because they tug at my feelings. Some months ago, he wrote that he did not want me to seek the whys, because there are some things that happen for which we can formulate no whys, for which whys simply do not exist and, perhaps, are not necessary. He did not mention Papa—he hardly mentions Papa in his letters—but I knew what he meant, I understood that he was stirring what I was afraid to stir myself.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
We'd never seen anything as green as these rice paddies. It was not just the paddies themselves: the surrounding vegetation - foliage so dense the trees lost track of whose leaves were whose - was a rainbow coalition of one colour: green. There was an infinity of greens, rendered all the greener by splashes of red hibiscus and the herons floating past, so white and big it seemed as if sheets hung out to dry had suddenly taken wing. All other colours - even purple and black - were shades of green. Light and shade were degrees of green. Greenness, here, was less a colour than a colonising impulse. Everything was either already green - like a snake, bright as a blade of grass, sidling across the footpath - or in the process of becoming so. Statues of the Buddha were mossy, furred with green.
Geoff Dyer (Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It)
Flowers floating down the river; yellow and scarlet cannas, roses, jasmine, hibiscus. They are placed in boats made of broad leaves, then consigned to the waters with a prayer. The strong current carries them swiftly downstream, and they bob about on the water for fifty, sometimes a hundred yards, before being submerged in the river. Do the pursued prayers sink too, or do they reach the hearts of the many gods who have favoured Hardwar - 'door of Hari,or Vishnu'- these several hundred years?
Ruskin Bond
Mama had greeted him the traditional way that women were supposed to, bending low and offering him her back so that he would pat it with his fan made of the soft, straw-colored tail of an animal. Back home that night, Papa told Mama that it was sinful. You did not bow to another human being. It was an ungodly tradition, bowing to an Igwe. So, a few days later, when we went to see the bishop at Awka, I did not kneel to kiss his ring. I wanted to make Papa proud. But Papa yanked my ear in the car and said I did not have the spirit of discernment: the bishop was a man of God; the Igwe was merely a traditional ruler.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I meant to say I am sorry Papa broke your figurines, but the words that came out were, ‘I’m sorry your figurines broke, Mama.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Aokpe will always be special because it was the reason Kambili and Jaja first came to Nsukka.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Perhaps we will talk more with time, or perhaps we never will be able to say it all, to clothe things in words, things that have long been naked.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The last class of my old professor's life took place once a week in his house, by a window in the study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink leaves.
Mitch Albom (Tuesdays with Morrie)
She did things to me that would lure a hummingbird from a hibiscus and make a bulldog break his chain. I
Frank W. Abagnale (Catch Me If You Can)
Nor will I ever find that walled garden where the hibiscus blows, with sweet musk roses and eglantine. Where stamens of rain fall on warm, white breasts.
Poile Sengupta (Inga)
Blood-coloured bottlebrush trees and scarlet hibiscus looked too bright for this devastated world.
Jane Wilson-Howarth (Snowfed Waters)
After twelve weeks, there was a greater reduction in waistlines and body-fat percentage in the hibiscus group compared to those who got placebo capsules,
Michael Greger (How Not to Diet)
What plant?' 'Sorry?' "What plant did Mum leave, at the grave?' Sally went to the open window and reached through to pick a peach-colored flower from a blooming bush. She offered it to Alice. 'Beach hibiscus,' Alice cried softly, remembering the flower crown her mother made when she was a child. Remembering its meaning in the Thornfield Dictionary. Love binds us in eternity.
Holly Ringland (The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart)
white and pink, that smelled heavenly, hibiscus so brilliant in color they almost burned Sophie’s eyeballs. In the middle of the lanai, a table was set for breakfast, with pristine white dishes. The chairs
Fern Michaels (Tuesday's Child)
Sitting in the garden, watching a hibiscus sun set over an emerald-green archipelago, leaves the couple unsettled. It forces them to swim in the solitary world of thoughts, preoccupations, and visions. Yet it doesn’t feel lonely.
Shubhangi Swarup (Latitudes of Longing)
I thought you hated them,” Nine Hibiscus said, dryly. “Was all of that complaining about ecosystem disruption for show, then?” Twenty Cicada looked up at her, and dismissed most of his work holos with the hand that wasn’t petting the small void on his knee. “I do hate them,” he said, smiling. “But this one likes me, and what am I going to do with the things, space them? It’s not their fault they exist.” She came to sit next to him, knee to knee. There always seemed to be more oxygen in one of Twenty Cicada’s garden rooms. (Not seemed: there was. Plant respiration. She’d checked the readouts once. It was a fractional difference, but real.) The Kauraanian pet lifted its head and opened yellow eyes. It made a noise like a badly tuned stringed instrument, stood, paced in a tight circle on Twenty Cicada’s lap, and settled down again. “I didn’t think you’d space them, Swarm,” she said. “But this is cuddling.” “It yowls if I don’t,” Twenty Cicada said, perfectly bland, and Nine Hibiscus laughed.
Arkady Martine (A Desolation Called Peace (Teixcalaan, #2))
- Os que estudaram vão embora, aqueles que têm potencial para consertar o que está errado. Eles deixam os fracos para trás. Os tiranos continuam reinando porque os fracos não conseguem resistir. Você não vê que é um círculo vicioso? Quem vai quebrar esse círculo?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I sat at my bedroom window after I changed; the cashew tree was so close I could reach out and pluck a leaf if it were not for the silver-colour crisscross of mosquito netting. The bell-shaped yellow fruits hung lazily, drawing buzzing bees that bumped against my window's netting. I heard Papa walk upstairs to his room for his afternoon siesta. I closed my eyes, sat still, waiting to hear him call Jaja, to hear Jaja go into his room. But after long, silent minutes, I opened my eyes and pressed my forehead against the window louvers to look outside.9
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Anti-Chlorine/Anti-Fluoride Tea For a powerful detox of chlorine and fluoride from your organs and the rest of your body, blend equal parts of blackberry leaf, raspberry leaf, hibiscus flower, and rose hips. Steep one tablespoon of this herb mixture per cup of hot water for tea.
Anthony William (Medical Medium: Secrets Behind Chronic and Mystery Illness and How to Finally Heal)
Do you try to treat cancer sores or the cancer itself? We cannot afford to give pocket money to our children. We cannot afford to eat meat. We cannot afford bread. So your child steals and you turn to him in surprise? You must try to heal the cancer because the sores will keep coming back.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
It was a whimsical thing fit for changeling children, wrought with mermaids trapped in ivy, open seashells with tiny apples growing in them instead of salty flesh.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Now the verandah was so silent I could hear the sound of the raindrops sliding off the leaves.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
To restore the dignity of man. Obiora was reading the plaque, too. He let out a short cackle and asked, “But when did man lose his dignity?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Defiance is like marijuana—it is not a bad thing when it is used right.” The
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Às vezes a vida começa quando o casamento acaba.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
For me, it was the hibiscus flower, the petal red and fleshy as our mother trailed it over the tip of my nose, before she let me gum it to release its tart flavor. For Malina, it was a gleaming, perfect cherry, which Mama crushed into a paste that she let my sister suck from her ring finger. It was bad luck to name a daughter after the thing that first sparked the gleam, Mama said. So I was Iris, for a flower that wasn’t hibiscus, and my sister was Malina, for a raspberry. They were placeholder names that didn’t pin down our true nature, so nothing would ever be able to summon us. No demon or vila would ever reel us in by our real names. Even caught up in the story, Mama could never quite explain what the gleam looked like once she found it.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
But what if she discovers the truth? What he suspects is the truth. That he’s patchwork, a tin man, his heart stuffed with sawdust. He thinks of her waiting for him, somewhere else, an island, subtropical, not muggy, her long hair waving in the sea breeze, a red hibiscus tucked behind one ear. If he’s lucky she’ll wait till that happens, till he can get there to be with her.
Margaret Atwood (Life Before Man)
Lantern bush Meaning: Hope may blind me Abutilon leucopetalum | Northern Territory Tjirin-tjrinpa (Pit.) is found in dry, often rocky inland regions. Leaves have a heart-shaped base. Yellow hibiscus-like flowers appear mostly in winter and spring, but can sometimes appear endlessly, their bright color shining all year round. Used by Anangu children to make small toy spears.
Holly Ringland (The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart)
She plucked the blossoms from the bag and arranged them, one by one, in the water glass on her dressing table. "They'll never keep," I said. "They're [hibiscus] a terrible cutting flower. They'll wilt by morning." "I know," she said." But don't they look so pretty right now, just as they are?" I nodded. I wished I could see the beauty in the moment the way Kitty did. It was a gift.
Sarah Jio (The Bungalow)
Today tours can be taken around the white-stucco red-tiled colonnaded building, rather grand in its colonial style, with neatly trimmed gardens, painted curbstones, clipped conifers and beautiful deep pink rosa china hibiscus flowers by the door through which those about to die would enter. In May, which is autumn in the southern hemisphere, the trees turn rich shades of russet and chestnut.
Paul Vallely (Pope Francis: Untying the Knots)
Probably one of the cruelest things that can happen to a girl is when she is born into the world, her parents give her a name that is alliterative in nature. The more unusual the name, the more the other kids bully or tease them , especially when they are unpopular, gawky, or stand out from the crowd. So it happened with Hester Hibiscus, whose last name alone was a means for the chides and jeers of her childhood peers.
J.E.S. Campbell (Blue Summer: A Pair of Normal Girls Mystery)
If you wish to know who is really the lover, look then not at the boy who sits by her side, looks boldly into her eyes and twists the flowers in her necklace around his fingers and steals the hibiscus flower from her hair that he may wear it behind his ear. Do not think it is he who whispers softly in her ear, or says to her 'Sweetheart, wait for me to-night. After the moon has set, I will come to you,' or who teases her by saying she has many lovers. Look instead at the boy who sits far-off, who sits with bent head and takes no part in the joking. And you will see that in his eyes are always turned softly on the girl. Always he watches her and never does he miss a movement of her lips. Perhaps she will wink at him, perhaps she will raise her eyebrows, perhaps she will make a sign with her hand, he must always be wakeful and watchful or else he will miss it.
Margaret Mead
We did that often, asking each other questions whose answers we already knew. Perhaps it was so that we would not ask the other questions, the ones whose answers we did not want to know. “I have three assignments to do,
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Ela parecia tão feliz, tão em paz, e eu me perguntei como alguém perto de mim podia se sentir assim, quando havia fogo líquido me queimando por dentro, quando o medo misturado à esperança se agarrava nos meus calcanhares.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
O jokal Eugene tem de parar de fazer o trabalho de Deus. Deus é grande o suficiente para fazer seu próprio trabalho. Se Deus for julgar nosso pai por escolher o caminho de nossos ancestrais, então Ele que faça o julgamento, não Eugene.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I stand. People move around me, they try to touch, but they can’t stick. Two, three, four steps and I’m less than a meter away. “June?” Enki says. I kneel. A subject to her king. I take his hand. His grip is firm and warm and dry; he smells of hibiscus and sea salt. I never really believed you would pick the Queen’s Award, he said. And he was right, in the end. “The person —” Enki puts his hand over my mouth. He looks scared. Has something else happened to the city? “Quiet.” His lips barely move.
Alaya Dawn Johnson (The Summer Prince)
Papa said that the parish priest in Abba was not spiritual enough. That was the problem with our people, Papa told us, our priorities were wrong; we cared too much about huge church buildings and mighty statues. You would never see white people doing that.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
He is hearing the uncertain passage of a broken heart, bruising itself again and again on the unjust stones. Such a heart might stumble to either bank of the stream to escape the rush of time. To the side of light, or to the infinity of dark. To virtue, or to evil. Right here, in the river of his life, curves a pool of experience where the heart baptises itself. Either it rises, dark and closed and formidable, or it thrusts forward like an opening hibiscus, its five extravagant petals still dripping tinctures of blood.
Kaimana Wolff (La Chiripa (The Widening Gyre #2))
A paradisiacal lagoon lay below them. The water was an unbelievable, unreal turquoise, its surface so still that every feature of the bottom could be admired in magnified detail: colorful pebbles, bright red kelp, fish as pretty and colorful as the jungle birds. A waterfall on the far side fell softly from a height of at least twenty feet. A triple rainbow graced its frothy bottom. Large boulders stuck out of the water at seemingly random intervals, black and sun-warmed and extremely inviting, like they had been placed there on purpose by some ancient giant. And on these were the mermaids. Wendy gasped at their beauty. Their tails were all colors of the rainbow, somehow managing not to look tawdry or clownish. Deep royal blue, glittery emerald green, coral red, anemone purple. Slick and wet and as beautifully real as the salmon Wendy's father had once caught on holiday in Scotland. Shining and voluptuously alive. The mermaids were rather scandalously naked except for a few who wore carefully placed shells and starfish, although their hair did afford some measure of decorum as it trailed down their torsos. Their locks were long and thick and sinuous and mostly the same shades as their tails. Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers. Their "human" skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were also familiar eye colors but strangely clear and flat. Either depthless or extremely shallow depending on how one stared. They sang, they brushed their hair, they played in the water. In short, they did everything mythical and magical mermaids were supposed to do, laughing and splashing as they did. "Oh!" Wendy whispered. "They're-" And then she stopped. Tinker Bell was giving her a funny look. An unhappy funny look. The mermaids were beautiful. Indescribably, perfectly beautiful. They glowed and were radiant and seemed to suck up every ray of sun and sparkle of water; Wendy found she had no interest looking anywhere else.
Liz Braswell (Straight On Till Morning (Twisted Tales))
The light irradiates white peaks of Annapurna marching down the sky, in the great rampart that spreads east and west for eighteen hundred miles, the Himalaya- the alaya (abode, or home) of hima (snow).Hibiscus, frangipani, bougainvillea: seen under snow peaks, these tropical blossoms become the flowers of heroic landscapes. Macaques scamper in green meadow, and a turquoise roller spins in a golden light. Drongos, rollers, barbets, and white Eqyptian vulture are the common birds, and all have close relatives in East Africa.
Peter Matthiessen (The Snow Leopard)
Há alguns meses, ele escreveu dizendo que não queria que eu ficasse procurando os porquês, pois há certas coisas que acontecem e para as quais não podemos formular um porquê, para as quais os porquês simplesmente não existem e para as quais, talvez, eles não sejam necessários.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Do you want to go to Nsukka?’ I asked when we got to the landing. ‘Yes,’ he said, and his eyes said that he knew I did, too. And I could not find the words in our eye language to tell him how my throat tightened at the thought of five days without Papa’s voice, without his footsteps on the stairs.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There were some hours to spare before his ship sailed, and having deposited his luggage, including a locked leather despatch-case, on board, he lunched at the Cafe Tewfik near the quay. There was a garden in front of it with palm trees and trellises gaily clad in bougainvillias: a low wooden rail separated it from the street, and Morris had a table close to this. As he ate he watched the polychromatic pageant of Eastern life passing by: there were Egyptian officials in broad-cloth frock coats and red fezzes; barefooted splay-toed fellahin in blue gabardines; veiled women in white making stealthy eyes at passers-by; half-naked gutter-snipe, one with a sprig of scarlet hibiscus behind his ear; travellers from India with solar tepees and an air of aloof British Superiority; dishevelled sons of the Prophet in green turbans, a stately sheik in a white burnous; French painted ladies of a professional class with lace-rimmed parasols and provocative glances; a wild-eyed dervish in an accordion-pleated skirt, chewing betel-nut and slightly foaming at the mouth. A Greek boot-black with box adorned with brass plaques tapped his brushes on it to encourage customers, an Egyptian girl squatted in the gutter beside a gramophone, steamers passing into the Canal hooted on their syrens. ("Monkeys")
E.F. Benson (The Mummy Walks Among Us)
The researchers tried a clever tactic to overcome this problem. They created a number of recipes for common foods including muffins and pasta in which they could disguise placebo ingredients like bran and molasses to match the texture and color of the flax-laden foods. This way, they could randomize people into two groups and secretly introduce tablespoons of daily ground flaxseeds into the diets of half the participants to see if it made any difference. After six months, those who ate the placebo foods started out hypertensive and stayed hypertensive, despite the fact that many of them were on a variety of blood pressure pills. On average, they started the study at 155/81 and ended it at 158/81. What about the hypertensives who were unknowingly eating flaxseeds every day? Their blood pressure dropped from 158/82 down to 143/75. A seven-point drop in diastolic blood pressure may not sound like a lot, but that would be expected to result in 46 percent fewer strokes and 29 percent less heart disease over time.125 How does that result compare with taking drugs? The flaxseeds managed to drop subjects’ systolic and diastolic blood pressure by up to fifteen and seven points, respectively. Compare that result to the effect of powerful antihypertensive drugs, such as calcium-channel blockers (for example, Norvasc, Cardizem, Procardia), which have been found to reduce blood pressure by only eight and three points, respectively, or to ACE inhibitors (such as Vasotec, Lotensin, Zestril, Altace), which drop patients’ blood pressure by only five and two points, respectively.126 Ground flaxseeds may work two to three times better than these medicines, and they have only good side effects. In addition to their anticancer properties, flaxseeds have been demonstrated in clinical studies to help control cholesterol, triglyceride, and blood sugar levels; reduce inflammation, and successfully treat constipation.127 Hibiscus Tea for Hypertension Hibiscus tea, derived from the flower of the same name, is also known as roselle, sorrel, jamaica, or sour tea. With
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
[She] had sounded like the rain. Sometimes storms, sometimes light patters, sometimes the sweet, lashing gales after a long drought. Sometimes even the kind that came with rainbows. The kind you wanted to feel on your face while you held the rest of your body underwater in the summer sea. Rain could be so warm. No one ever really talked about that.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
I will believe anything about deer. Deer, in my opinion, are rats with antlers, roaches with split hooves, denizens of the dark primeval suburbs. Deer intensely suggest New Jersey. One of the densest concentrations of wild deer in the United States inhabits the part of New Jersey that, as it happens, I inhabit, too. Deer like people. They like to be near people. They like beanfields, head lettuce, and anybody’s apples. They like hibiscus, begonias, impatiens, azaleas, rhododendrons, boxwood, and wandering Jews. I once saw a buck with a big eight-point rocking-chair rack looking magnificent as he stood between two tractor-trailers in the Frito-Lay parking lot in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Deer use the sidewalks in the heart of Princeton.
John McPhee
Existem pessoas (...) que acham que nós não conseguimos governar nosso próprio país, pois nas poucas vezes em que tentamos nós falhamos, como se todos os outros que se governam hoje em dia tivessem acertado de primeira. É como dizer a um bebê que está engatinhando, tenta andar e cai de bunda no chão que ele deve permanecer no chão. Como se todos os adultos que passam por ele também não houvessem engatinhado um dia.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
They are always so quiet," he said, turning to Papa. "So quiet." "They are not like those loud children people are raising these days, with no home training and no fear of God," Papa said, and I was certain that it was pride that stretched Papa's lips and lightened his eyes. "Imagine what the Standard would be if we were all quiet." It was a joke. Ade Coker was laughing; so was his wife, Yewanda. But Papa did not laugh. Jaja and I turned and went back upstairs, silently.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
A Rakshasi did not live here. A princess did. I was staring into the most dazzling garden I had ever seen. Cobblestone pathways meandered between rows of salmon-hued hibiscus, regal hollyhock, delicate impatiens, wild orchids, thorny rosebushes, and manicured shrubs starred with jasmine. Bunches of bougainvillea cascaded down the sides of the wall, draped across the stone like extravagant shawls. Magnolia trees, cotton-candy pink, were interspersed with coconut trees, which let in streaks of purplish light through their fanlike leaves. A rock-rimmed pond glistened in a corner of the garden, and lotus blossoms sprouting from green discs skimmed its surface. A snow white bird that looked like a peacock wove in and out through a grove of pomegranate trees, which were set aflame by clusters of deep orange blossoms. I had seen blue peacocks before, but never a white one. An Ashoka tree stood at one edge of the garden, as if on guard, near the door. A brief wind sent a cluster of red petals drifting down from its branches and settling on the ground at my feet. A flock of pale blue butterflies emerged from a bed of golden trumpet flowers and sailed up into the sky. In the center of this scene was a peach stucco cottage with green shutters and a thatched roof, quaint and idyllic as a dollhouse. A heavenly perfume drifted over the wall, intoxicating me- I wanted nothing more than to enter.
Kamala Nair (The Girl in the Garden)
Over the course of two years, from June 2004 to June 2006, two separate deaths did nothing to ease my overall anxiety. Steve’s beloved Staffordshire bull terrier Sui died of cancer in June 2004. He had set up his swag and slept beside her all night, talking to her, recalling old times in the bush catching crocodiles, and comforting her. Losing Sui brought up memories of losing Chilli a decade and a half earlier. “I am not getting another dog,” Steve said. “It is just too painful.” Wes, the most loyal friend anyone could have, was there for Steve while Sui passed from this life to the next. Wes shared in Steve’s grief. They had known Sui longer than Steve and I had been together. Two years after Sui’s death, in June 2006, we lost Harriet. At 175, Harriet was the oldest living creature on earth. She had met Charles Darwin and sailed on the Beagle. She was our link to the past at the zoo, and beyond that, our link to the great scientist himself. She was a living museum and an icon of our zoo. The kids and I were headed to Fraser Island, along the southern coast of Queensland, with Joy, Steve’s sister, and her husband, Frank, our zoo manager, when I heard the news. An ultrasound had confirmed that Harriet had suffered a massive heart attack. Steve called me. “I think you’d better come home.” “I should talk to the kids about this,” I said. Bindi was horrified. “How long is Harriet going to live?” she asked. “Maybe hours, maybe days, but not long.” “I don’t want to see Harriet die,” she said resolutely. She wanted to remember her as the healthy, happy tortoise with whom she’d grown up. From the time Bindi was a tiny baby, she would enter Harriet’s enclosure, put her arms around the tortoise’s massive shell, and rest her face against her carapace, which was always warm from the sun. Harriet’s favorite food was hibiscus flowers, and Bindi would collect them by the dozen to feed her dear friend. I was worried about Steve but told him that Bindi couldn’t bear to see Harriet dying. “It’s okay,” he said. “Wes is here with me.” Once again, it fell to Wes to share his best mate’s grief.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
Having perfected his arrangements, he would get my pipe, and, lighting it, would hand it to me. Often he was obliged to strike a light for the occasion, and as the mode he adopted was entirely different from what I had ever seen or heard of before I will describe it. A straight, dry, and partly decayed stick of the Hibiscus, about six feet in length, and half as many inches in diameter, with a small, bit of wood not more than a foot long, and scarcely an inch wide, is as invariably to be met with in every house in Typee as a box of lucifer matches in the corner of a kitchen cupboard at home. The islander, placing the larger stick obliquely against some object, with one end elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees, mounts astride of it like an urchin about to gallop off upon a cane, and then grasping the smaller one firmly in both hands, he rubs its pointed end slowly up and down the extent of a few inches on the principal stick, until at last he makes a narrow groove in the wood, with an abrupt termination at the point furthest from him, where all the dusty particles which the friction creates are accumulated in a little heap. At first Kory-Kory goes to work quite leisurely, but gradually quickens his pace, and waxing warm in the employment, drives the stick furiously along the smoking channel, plying his hands to and fro with amazing rapidity, the perspiration starting from every pore. As he approaches the climax of his effort, he pants and gasps for breath, and his eyes almost start from their sockets with the violence of his exertions. This is the critical stage of the operation; all his previous labours are vain if he cannot sustain the rapidity of the movement until the reluctant spark is produced. Suddenly he stops, becoming perfectly motionless. His hands still retain their hold of the smaller stick, which is pressed convulsively against the further end of the channel among the fine powder there accumulated, as if he had just pierced through and through some little viper that was wriggling and struggling to escape from his clutches. The next moment a delicate wreath of smoke curls spirally into the air, the heap of dusty particles glows with fire, and Kory-Kory, almost breathless, dismounts from his steed.
Herman Melville
The archaeologist attached to the Bayard Dominick’s Marquesan team had reported in 1925 that the Marquesas offered “few opportunities for archaeological research.” But in 1956, a new expedition set out to reexamine the possibilities in these islands at the eastern edge of the Polynesian Triangle. An energetic Columbia University graduate student named Robert Suggs was sent ahead to reconnoiter, and he quickly discovered that the previous generation had gotten it all wrong. Everywhere he looked, he saw archaeological potential. “We were seldom out of sight of some relic of the ancient Marquesan culture,” he writes. “Through all the valleys were scattered clusters of ruined house platforms. . . . Overgrown with weeds, half tumbled down beneath the weight of toppled trees and the pressure of the inexorable palm roots, these ancient village sites were sources of stone axes, carved stone pestles, skulls, and other sundry curios.” There were ceremonial plazas “hundreds of feet long” and, high on the cliffs above the deep valleys, “burial caves containing the remains of the population of centuries past.” The coup de grâce came when Suggs and his guide followed up on a report of a large number of “pig bones” in the dunes at a place called Ha‘atuatua. This windswept expanse of scrub and sand lies on the exposed eastern corner of Nuku Hiva. A decade earlier, in 1946, a tidal wave had cut away part of the beach, and since then bones and other artifacts had been washing out of the dunes. Not knowing quite what to expect, Suggs and his guide rode over on horseback. When they came out of the “hibiscus tangle” at the back of the beach and “caught sight of the debris washing down the slope,” he writes, “I nearly fell out of the saddle.” The bones that were scattered all along the slope and on the beach below were not pig bones but human bones! Ribs, vertebrae, thigh bones, bits of skull vault, and innumerable hand and foot bones were everywhere. At the edge of the bank a bleached female skull rested upside down, almost entirely exposed. Where the bank had been cut away, a dark horizontal band about two feet thick could be seen between layers of clean white sand. Embedded in this band were bits of charcoal and saucers of ash, fragments of pearl shell, stone and coral tools, and large fitted stones that appeared to be part of a buried pavement. They had discovered the remains of an entire village, complete with postholes, cooking pits, courtyards, and burials. The time was too short to explore the site fully, but the very next year, Suggs and his wife returned to examine it. There
Christina Thompson (Sea People: The Puzzle of Polynesia)
Every Day Take Your Daily Doses Black Cumin (Nigella sativa) (¼ tsp) As noted in the Appetite Suppression section, a systematic review and meta-analysis of randomized, controlled weight-loss trials found that about a quarter teaspoon of black cumin powder every day appears to reduce body mass index within a span of a couple of months. Note that black cumin is different from regular cumin, for which the dosing is different. (See below.) Garlic Powder (¼ tsp) Randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled studies have found that as little as a daily quarter teaspoon of garlic powder can reduce body fat at a cost of perhaps two cents a day. Ground Ginger (1 tsp) or Cayenne Pepper (½ tsp) Randomized controlled trials have found that ¼ teaspoon to 1½ teaspoons a day of ground ginger significantly decreased body weight for just pennies a day. It can be as easy as stirring the ground spice into a cup of hot water. Note: Ginger may work better in the morning than evening. Chai tea is a tasty way to combine the green tea and ginger tweaks into a single beverage. Alternately, for BAT activation, you can add one raw jalapeño pepper or a half teaspoon of red pepper powder (or, presumably, crushed red pepper flakes) into your daily diet. To help beat the heat, you can very thinly slice or finely chop the jalapeño to reduce its bite to little prickles, or mix the red pepper into soup or the whole-food vegetable smoothie I featured in one of my cooking videos on NutritionFacts.org.4985 Nutritional Yeast (2 tsp) Two teaspoons of baker’s, brewer’s, or nutritional yeast contains roughly the amount of beta 1,3/1,6 glucans found in randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled clinical trials to facilitate weight loss. Cumin (Cuminum cyminum) (½ tsp with lunch and dinner) Overweight women randomized to add a half teaspoon of cumin to their lunches and dinners beat out the control group by four more pounds and an extra inch off their waists. There is also evidence to support the use of the spice saffron, but a pinch a day would cost a dollar, whereas a teaspoon of cumin costs less than ten cents. Green Tea (3 cups) Drink three cups a day between meals (waiting at least an hour after a meal so as to not interfere with iron absorption). During meals, drink water, black coffee, or hibiscus tea mixed 6:1 with lemon verbena, but never exceed three cups of fluid an hour (important given my water preloading advice). Take advantage of the reinforcing effect of caffeine by drinking your green tea along with something healthy you wish you liked more, but don’t consume large amounts of caffeine within six hours of bedtime. Taking your tea without sweetener is best, but if you typically sweeten your tea with honey or sugar, try yacon syrup instead. Stay
Michael Greger (How Not to Diet)
People have crushes on priests all the time, you know. It's exciting to have to deal with God as a rival.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There are people, she once wrote, who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time. It is like telling a crawling baby who tries to walk, and then falls back on his buttocks, to stay there. As if the adults walking past him did not all crawl, once.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus: A Novel)
We had been so beautiful together, reflecting one another like a family of mirrors.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Like a swarm of moths where there should have been only butterflies.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Maybe she was stoic and flawless as ever, Snow White giving birth under glass.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
These days, had someone asked me if our mother loved us, any "yes" would have caught in my throat like a fish bone.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Each bloomed into a little galaxy that I could cup inside my palm, the sticky stars of its pollen caught between my fingers.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
My thoughts sparked around each other like a school of minnows, slippery and silver, impossible to grasp.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Time shuddered, then slowed to a crawl. It seemed like hours that I watched her falling, the image of every moment sharp and hard like an insect caught in amber, each locking indelibly into my memory like the missing pieces of a terrible puzzle.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
And beyond, our mother lay like a deathbed princess under fluorescent lights.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
She is not a fruit," Luka said, sounding so affronted it actually made me laugh out loud. "It's true, I'm not," I agreed, still giggling ridiculously, "I am, in fact, a female human.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
They were staring away from each other, Lina's eyes near silver in the dimming light, as if her irises were limned with mercury, Niko's dark and gleaming like a doe's, blackened with liner. There was something glinting right beneath the surface there, a goldfish flicker in a pond, but I lost it just as quickly.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Mathematics to the rescue!" Niko cheered under her breath, giving a sarcastic fist pump, "Calculus will find a way.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Being sorry doesn't always fix everything, and I know that I- that sometimes I use it like a patch.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
She was a Polish witch-goddess who ruled over winter, nightmares, and love. They say even Death was so fascinated by her that she never died.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
I love her, okay? I've loved her since I was fifteen. Longer than that, really. And she- she loves me, too.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
All hail the misogyny, as if women can't be good at stealing and sacrilege-
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
The blood flowed through her straight down to us, connecting us to her through ribbons of ink.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
I would have bet anything that she had exactly as many diamonds as there were daughters sacrificed.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
I'd have let him hold me like that until I died.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
Then he asked her to dance him the tides of the oceans, and vanished while she danced.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
of this flat in two weeks. I know they are waiting to
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
As if I had grown into a cactus instead of something softer, and she didn't want to risk my spines.
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
To eight cups of water, add a handful of bulk dried hibiscus or four bags of tea in which hibiscus is the first ingredient. Then add the juice of one lemon and three tablespoons of erythritol, and leave it in your fridge to cold-brew overnight. In the morning, strain out the hibiscus or take out the tea bags, shake well, and drink throughout the day. That’s something I try to do every day I’m home. For extra credit, add green foam: Pour a cup of the tea into a blender with a bunch of fresh mint leaves, blend on high, and enjoy. You end up with dark-green leafies blended into what may be the highest antioxidant beverage in the world, and it tastes like fruit punch.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
Cherries can reduce the level of inflammation among healthy people too (as measured by a drop in C-reactive protein levels),32 so I was excited to find a green-light source available year-round—a canned product with only two ingredients: cherries and water. I drain off the liquid (which then goes into my hibiscus punch recipe here) and mix the cherries in a bowl of cooked oatmeal along with cocoa powder and pumpkin seeds. If you sweeten it with date sugar or erythritol (see here), it’s like eating chocolate-covered cherries for breakfast.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
Eres como una mosca, que sigue el cadáver hasta la tumba
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Probably the yaotlek Nine Hibiscus hadn’t gotten stuck with leading an unwinnable war because of sex, though. It looked more like politics to Eight Antidote, and everyone had politics, even if only some people had sex.
Arkady Martine (A Desolation Called Peace (Teixcalaan, #2))
The Kauraanian pet lifted its head and opened yellow eyes. It made a noise like a badly tuned stringed instrument, stood, paced in a tight circle on Twenty Cicada’s lap, and settled down again. “I didn’t think you’d space them, Swarm,” she said. “But this is cuddling.” “It yowls if I don’t,” Twenty Cicada said, perfectly bland, and Nine Hibiscus laughed.
Arkady Martine (A Desolation Called Peace (Teixcalaan, #2))
William and Kate escaped to Villa Hibiscus on the exclusive island enclave of Mustique in the Grenadines. Mustique had royal connections going back to the 1950s, when the high-living Princess Margaret built a lavish villa there. Mick Jagger bought a place on Mustique in 1971 and was soon joined by the likes of David Bowie and Richard Branson. Two other island residents—fashion moguls John and Belle Robinson, founders of the Jigsaw clothing chain—graciously waved the customary $14,000 weekly rental fee and lent Villa Hibiscus, their estate overlooking Macaroni Beach, to the young cadet and his girlfriend. The
Christopher Andersen (Brothers and Wives: Inside the Private Lives of William, Kate, Harry, and Meghan)
Mostly I’d Like to Be a Spiderweb because in the rain I’d look like a cracked window without a church to belong to. You could look through me and see the world in front of us. One time, my ex-lovers made a road of tongues for me. I took my shoes off to feel the song a little better, and cut a note short with each step. I want to tell you how many churches I’ve built to praise little things that deserve more than their few seconds of existence. Like the time I opened my door, smelled hibiscus and knew you were home. Like the time a child told me there was a god And because he was smiling, I believed him. Mostly, I’d like to be a spiderweb to feel you walk through. To see if you’ll take me with you, despite the spider I bring. — C.T. Salazar, from micro collection This Might Have Meant Fire: Poems, INCH quarterly (no. 39, Summer 2019)
C.T. Salazar
but sometimes I couldn't curb myself just to ease her - iris
Lana Popović (Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter, #1))
A group of plants she cultivated in pots on her patio. Jasmine that opened up in the evenings, flame-colored hibiscus, creamy gardenia with glossy leaves.
Jhumpa Lahiri (The Lowland)
ما كان يفعله الأب أمادي من تشجيع للصبية لتحقيق مستويات أعلى للوثب، هو نفسه تماماً، ما كانت تفعله العمة أفيوما من تشجيع لأبنائها على أن بمقدورهم تحقيق المزيد من التقدم، وعلى أنها تتوقع منهم المزيد من النجاح. لكن جاجا وأنا لم نكن نحقق تقدماً لأننا نثق بقدراتنا، وإنما لأننا كنا نخشي وينتابنا الذعر من عدم قدرتنا على تحقيق ما يتوقعه بابا منا من نجاح.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
إن هناك أناساً يعتقدون أننا لسنا قادرين على حكم أنفسنا لأننا في بعض الأوقات القليلة حاولنا وفشلنا، وكأن الآخرين الذين يحكمون أنفسهم قد نجحوا منذ محاولتهم الأولى..
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Papa looked around the room quickly, as if searching for proof that something had fallen from the high ceiling, something he had never thought would fall. He picked up the missal and flung it across the room, toward Jaja. It missed Jaja completely, but it hit the glass étagerè, which Mama polished often. It cracked the top shelf, swept the beige, finger-size ceramic figurines of ballet dancers in various contorted postures to the hard floor and then landed after them. Or rather it landed on their many pieces. It lay there, a huge leatherbound missal that contained the readings for all three cycles of the church year.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
I COULD SEE MY mother slipping away by the day, maybe even the hour, convinced that her public humiliation of Mr. Krauser had caused his suicide. The western sky could be strung with evening clouds that looked like flamingo wings; rain might patter on her caladiums and hibiscus and hydrangeas and roses and fill the air with a smell out of The Arabian Nights, the book that probably saved her sanity as a child. But no matter how grand a place the world might be, my mother’s eyes had the hollow expression of someone staring into a crypt.
James Lee Burke (The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga, #2))
The first sacrifice of the war was her flowers. We kept our shades closed to avoid being sprayed with bullets. Without sunlight, her cactus and hibiscus withered. During the fighting, patriotic anthems took over the radio - when we had batteries to listen. To avoid any trouble, she turned the music off. She had to watch, mute, while her plants died one by one.
Kenan Trebincevic (The Bosnia List: A Memoir of War, Exile, and Return)
We even made it to the holy mecca of Brooklyn food fanaticism: Smorgasburg, a collection of food vendors that battle it out for the most outrageously delicious, ridiculously inventive food. We duly ate our heads off, sampling panko-crusted chicken sandwiches topped with pickled cucumbers and daikon, brown butter cookies doused in flies of sea salt, and the coup d'état- gigantic, billowy doughnuts from a Bed-Stuy bakery called Dough, one sweetly flavored with hibiscus, the other a savory, roasted café au last varietal.
Amy Thomas (Brooklyn in Love: A Delicious Memoir of Food, Family, and Finding Yourself)
Blazing bamboo torches lit the way to the tiki hut beside Sarasota Bay at Mote Marine Aquarium. The thatch-roofed pavilion sheltered wooden picnic tables wrapped with raffia skirting and crowned with centerpieces of conch shells filled with sprays of orchids. Potted palms and red hibiscuses had been placed around the perimeter of the outdoor room. The atmosphere was redolent with roasting pork and salt air. "This is ridic!" exclaimed Piper. "We're never leaving." She scooped a watermelon margarita garnished with a paper umbrella from the tray of a passing server. Jack helped himself to a Captain Morgan on the rocks. "To us," he said, raising his glass. Trays of skewered beef teriyaki and sweet-and-sour chicken were passed.
Mary Jane Clark (Footprints in the Sand (Wedding Cake Mystery, #3))
And I'm not your protagonist I'm not even my own I don't know anything I don't even know what I don't know
Penelope Scott's Sweet Hibiscus Tea
d’hibiscus
Gustave Flaubert (L’Éducation Sentimentale (illustrated))
While Hubert perusing the countryside with a gentle smile said, 'But look, man, it just like home,' to boys who yearned to see the comparison --green hills that might resemble the verdant Cockpit country, flower that might delight as much as a dainty crowd of pink hibiscus, rivers that could fall with the same astounding spectacle of Dunn's rive.
Andrea Levy (Small Island)
hibiscus mimosa The hibiscus mimosa is lovely in its simplicity, a beautiful mix of prosecco and hibiscus that begs for a toast (or to be served alongside toast, at brunch). Sub in a nonalcoholic sparkling wine for kids and teetotalers. TIME: 3 MINUTES SERVES: 1 ⅓ cup dried hibiscus flowers ⅓ cup sugar 1 lemon wedge Prosecco ½ ounce hibiscus syrup (from one 8.8-ounce jar of hibiscus flowers in syrup) ½ ounce fresh lemon juice Hibiscus flower (from one 8.8-ounce jar of hibiscus flowers in syrup), for garnish Combine the hibiscus flowers and sugar in a food processor. Pulse until the flowers are pulverized. (Be certain to use the pulse method to ensure the sugar doesn’t melt or heat up.) Pour the hibiscus sugar onto a small plate. Rub the rim of a champagne flute with the lemon wedge. Dip the rim in the hibiscus sugar and twist it to coat. Fill the rimmed champagne flute halfway with prosecco, making certain to tilt the glass when pouring the prosecco to ensure the liquid does not overflow. Add the hibiscus syrup and lemon juice; stir with a barspoon. Use a barspoon to add a hibiscus flower to the bottom of the glass. Top off with additional prosecco. Serve and enjoy.
Moby (The Little Pine Cookbook: Modern Plant-Based Comfort)
iced hibiscus tea This tea is one of life’s simple pleasures. At Little Pine, it is a constant—as in, the staff is constantly awash in the stuff. You will be, too, once you’ve tried it. TIME: 15 MINUTES SERVES: 6 4 cups boiling water ½ cup loose-leaf Art of Tea Hibiscus Cooler or other dried hibiscus flowers 2 cinnamon sticks 1 star anise pod 4 cups room-temperature water Pour the boiling water into an 8-cup pitcher. Put the hibiscus tea into a tea bag. Drop the tea bag, cinnamon sticks, and star anise into the boiling water. Let steep for 15 minutes, then take the bag out of the water, leaving the cinnamon sticks and star anise. Add the room-temperature water, let the tea cool down, then enjoy.
Moby (The Little Pine Cookbook: Modern Plant-Based Comfort)
flor de jamaica If you’re looking for a very mocktail-esque nonalcoholic beverage, this might be the one. Little Pine’s favorite tea, hibiscus, is bolstered here by ginger beer, aka a teetotaler’s best friend, and finished simply with lime juice. I can almost promise you that if you keep the Flor de Jamaica on tap all summer long, you’ll discover a popularity heretofore unknown. TIME: 3 MINUTES SERVES: 1 ⅓ cup dried hibiscus flowers ⅓ cup sugar 1 ounce fresh lime juice 2 ounces (¼ cup) Iced Hibiscus Tea Ginger beer Lime wheel, for garnish Place the hibiscus flowers and sugar in a food processor. Pulse until the flowers are pulverized. (Be certain to use the pulse method to ensure the sugar doesn’t melt or heat up.) Pour the hibiscus sugar onto a small plate and set aside. Pour the lime juice and hibiscus tea into a pint glass. Add ice to fill the glass. Top off the glass with ginger beer. Cut a small notch in the lime wheel. Following the line of the notch, coat half the wheel in the hibiscus sugar by carefully and evenly pressing that half into the plate of hibiscus sugar. Position the lime wheel on the edge of the glass. Serve and enjoy.
Moby (The Little Pine Cookbook: Modern Plant-Based Comfort)
And when we jumped, there was this moment, right before the drop. Shimmering suspension, as if the air around us had turned just a little closer to honey. Just for long enough to let me watch her watching me, her pretty eyes squinched against the sun. Her mouth open wide and round in the fullest laugh, as if she could gulp down all the joy of being with me in the air. And then we fell, obviously, but that wasn't the point. Aloft. That was the word I wanted. That feeling both of freedom and not being alone. Aloft is what we'd had that day, what Niko always meant to me.
Lana Popović (Fierce Like a Firestorm (Hibiscus Daughter, #2))
Her four youngest employees, all in their late twenties or early thirties sat around a table, mugs of hot liquid in front of them. Stacey knew Ashley only drank tea. She worked exclusively in the hibiscus gardens with the girl on her right, Bailey. Lizzie and Tayla were dressed in their maid uniforms, one sipping hot chocolate if the marshmallows were any indication, and the other nursing what looked like black coffee. “Morning, ladies,” Stacey said. Her staff didn’t jump to attention the way she’d seen the employees at Sweet Breeze. “Morning,” the all chorused back. Stacey enjoyed the more casual relationship she had with her employees, and she wondered if dark, dangerous Davenport even knew how to be casual. What would that look like on him? Jeans? A T-shirt? Swim trunks? She couldn’t imagine the imposing man who’d shown up at her door wearing that expensive suit in anything but crisp,
Elana Johnson (The Billionaire's Enemy (Getaway Bay, #1))
... but that was comfort lent in catastrophe. Now, in the absence of tragedy, we couldn't seem to find each other.
Lana Popović (Fierce Like a Firestorm (Hibiscus Daughter, #2))
Albatross was still pacing slowly toward the queen. “Here is our first animus,” Queen Lagoon said to the SkyWings, who seemed to have figured that out themselves, judging by the looks of terror on their faces. “My brother, Albatross. We were just talking this morning about what his next project should be. I’m thinking big this time. Something that makes me invulnerable, perhaps. Or something that kills any dragon who might be a threat to me.” Beyond Albatross, over by the couches, Splash stiffened, and Fathom saw her crush one of the hibiscus blossoms between her claws. He glanced around and saw his father put a wing around Manta, who had gone pale. “Yes,” Albatross said. “Although you might recall I wasn’t exactly enthused about any of those ideas.” “Then it’s lucky you’re not my only animus dragon,” Queen Lagoon said coldly. Fathom felt a shiver all the way down to the tip of his tail. If she asked him to do a spell like that, would he? Would he obey his queen and put his own mother in danger? Or disobey her, and perhaps put everyone he cared about in even worse danger? What would she do to Indigo if I ever said no to her? Albatross stopped right in front of the queen, snout-to-snout with her. Fathom couldn’t read his face. He looked as though he’d been carved from stone, any emotions chipped away. “Do you think you’re done?” Queen Lagoon said to him softly. “Do you think you’ll ever be done atoning for what you did to Sapphire? It’s not going to end, Albatross. You’ll always be mine.” Something clinked in the background, and Fathom turned, thinking he’d seen a flash of silver in the air, and then a line of red sliced slowly, darkly, murderously across Queen Lagoon’s throat like the widest smile in the world. She blinked at her brother in surprise and lifted one talon to her neck. Her last words were, “But I’m the queen,” and then her body fell in slow motion, legs crumpling, wings crashing down, head landing with a splash in the fountain. Clouds of blood spilled out, turning the water red and black. The queen of the SeaWings was dead. And her animus, Fathom’s grandfather, was holding the knife.
Tui T. Sutherland (Darkstalker (Wings of Fire: Legends, #1))
Chef Fany Gerson opened Dough in Bed-Stuy in 2010, and her big, billowy, brioche-style doughnuts have spread across the city and are now available at dozens of third-party locations (including Smorgasburg, which is where we first sampled the bad boys). With delectable flavors like blood orange, hibiscus, and toasted coconut, inspired by Fany's Latin American heritage, to know Dough is to love it. Naturally, Anarchy in a Jar supports local and family farmers- this is Brooklyn! A lesser credo just wouldn't cut it. The small-batch condiments company was started in 2009 by Laena McCarthy and includes deliciously eclectic offerings like grapefruit & smoked salt marmalade, cherry balsamic jam, and beer mustard.
Amy Thomas (Brooklyn in Love: A Delicious Memoir of Food, Family, and Finding Yourself)
It was then that I noticed the hibiscus tree. Its magenta flowers were in bloom, brilliant and full with fertile golden centers. The tree was incongruous with its surroundings- the dirt, the man weathered from the sun and life.
Alex Brunkhorst (The Gilded Life of Matilda Duplaine)
The last class of my old professor’s life took place once a week, in his home, by a window in his study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink flowers.
Mitch Albom (Tuesdays with Morrie)
I raised one eyebrow in his direction, wondering if that last line had been in their sponsorship contract. In case of unexpected murder, please plug the Tropical Tryst Buffet and the Hula Hibiscus Day Spa.
Gemma Halliday (Deadly in High Heels (High Heels, #9))
Spain is a million things, it’s lantanas and hibiscus, it’s roses that aren’t ashamed to split their skirts for love, rude flowers pushing out of their skins, and all-new vines hugging the old walls, new ascendency, shooting up into skies like something about to matter.
Lisa R. Spaar (The Hide-and-Seek Muse: Annotation of Contemporary Poetry)
THE FIRST TIME she left the house with her sleeping son in her arms, still unsteady on her legs, gripping the railing tightly, she surveyed the yard, astonished. It was at once familiar and strange. Something was different, though she could not immediately put her finger on it. The morning sun beamed through the bushes. The leaves of the banana plants seemed greener, their fruit larger and yellower. The hibiscus and the bougainvillea had never looked so beautiful. A warm breeze caressed her skin. Maung Sein was perched on a log below her, chopping kindling. Stroke by stroke he would split branches as thick as a fist. The uniformity of his movements radiated something infinitely reassuring. Nu Nu looked at Ko Gyi in her arms. He had her nose. Her mouth. Her cinnamon skin. She cautiously took one of his little hands. It was warm. And would always remain so. Suddenly he opened one blinking eye, and then quickly the other. He had her eyes, too, without a doubt. Ko Gyi regarded his mother earnestly, intently. She smiled. His deep brown eyes did not move. They looked for a long time at each other. Then a quiet smile drifted across his face. No one had ever smiled at her that
Jan-Philipp Sendker (A Well-Tempered Heart)
With the president’s signing of Executive Order 9066, Japanese-Americans were told to leave their homes, sell their businesses and possessions and move inland.
Alice J. Wisler (Under the Silk Hibiscus)
Lin reflected how much power mere money had. Lying in the purse it was just coins. Let loose from confinement, it was blankets against the cold, and candied chestnuts. It was an old lady clad in a new dress with hibiscus flowers on it.
Kerry Greenwood
Balinese women carefully arrange them inside baskets meticulously woven from palm fronds or pandanus petals or cut from banana leaves. They decorate them with frangipanis, hibiscus, lotus blossoms, clusters of oleander, and delicate rosettes made from rice dough, all arrayed in careful patterns and circling symmetries. Several times a day the women will prepare these, carefully arranging dozens of them in large trays and baskets. Then, wearing elegantly tailored blouses, ceremonial sashes, and sarongs, they distribute them throughout their homes, shops, and family shrines.
Jeremy Grimshaw (The Island of Bali Is Littered With Prayers)
Same hour, same set-up: woman plus tortoise, tortoise plus hibiscus, man plus gin and tonic. "To arm myself against the evening." She had found it perplexing, a man who feared the evening because he feared the night.
Cees Nooteboom ('s Nachts komen de vossen)
Aunty Ifeoma came the next day, in the evening, when the orange trees started to cast long, wavy shadows across the water fountain in the front yard. Her laughter floated upstairs into the living room, where I sat reading. I had not heard it in two years, but I would know that cackling, hearty sound anywhere. Aunty Ifeoma was as tall as Papa, with a well-proportioned body. She walked fast, like one who knew just where she was going and what she was going to do there. And she spoke the way she walked, as if to get as many words out of her mouth as she could in the shortest time.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
But Stanley persisted in the kitchen, performing the small yet demanding apprentice's tasks she set for him- removing the skin from piles of almonds, grating snowy hills of lemon zest, the nightly sweeping of the kitchen floor and sponging of metal shelves. He didn't seem to mind: every day after school, he'd lean over the counter, watching her experiment with combinations- shifting flavors like the beads in a kaleidoscope- burnt sugar, hibiscus, rum, espresso, pear: dessert as a metaphor for something unresolvable. It was nothing like the slapdashery of cooking. Baking, to Avis, was no less precise than chemistry: an exquisite transfiguration. Every night, she lingered in the kitchen, analyzing her work, jotting notes, describing the way ingredients nestled: a slim layer of black chocolate hidden at the bottom of a praline tart, the essence of lavender stirred into a bowl of preserved wild blueberries. Stanley listened to his mother think out loud: he asked her questions and made suggestions- like mounding lemon meringue between layers of crisp pecan wafers- such a success that her corporate customers ordered it for banquets and company retreats. On the day Avis is thinking of, she sat in the den where they watched TV, letting her hand swim over the silk of her daughter's hair, imagining a dessert pistou of blackberry, creme fraiche, and nutmeg, in which floated tiny vanilla croutons. Felice was her audience, Avis's picky eater- difficult to please. Her "favorites" changed capriciously and at times, it seemed, deliberately, so that after Avis set out what once had been, in Felice's words, "the best ever"- say, a miniature roulade Pavlova with billows of cream and fresh kumquat- Felice would announce that she was now "tired" of kumquats.
Diana Abu-Jaber (Birds of Paradise)
She designed the cakes and I worked out the recipes. The first year we each created a signature cake. Genie's was called the Goddess: really tall, all white on the outside, wrapped in mountains of coconut and whipped cream, with a passion-fruit heart." "And yours was called the Shrinking Violet. Unassuming on the outside but pretty special once you worked your way in." She reached over and squeezed my wrist. "Wish I'd thought of that. You'd understand if you knew my sister." By now I was a little drunk. "One year Genie came up with Melting Cakes. You know, like flourless chocolate, the kind that are melted in the middle? They were gorgeous neon colors, and I made the flavors intense- blood orange, blueberry, lime, hibiscus, and caramel.
Ruth Reichl (Delicious!)
So, do you plan to go to Aokpe?” Father Amadi asked. “I was not really planning to. But I suppose we will have to go now, I will find out the next apparition date.” “People are making this whole apparition thing up. Didn’t they say Our Lady was appearing at Bishop Shanahan Hospital the other time? And then that she was appearing in Transekulu?” Obiora asked. “Aokpe is different. It has all the signs of Lourdes,” Amaka said. “Besides, it’s about time Our Lady came to Africa. Don’t you wonder how come she always appears in Europe? She was from the Middle East, after all.” “What is she now, the Political Virgin?” Obiora asked, and I looked at him again. He was a bold, male version of what I could never have been at fourteen, what I still was not. Father Amadi laughed. “But she’s appeared in Egypt, Amaka. At least people flocked there, like they are flocking to Aokpe now. O bugodi, like migrating locusts.” “You don’t sound like you believe, Father.” Amaka was watching him. “I don’t believe we have to go to Aokpe or anywhere else to find her. She is here, she is within us, leading us to her Son.” He spoke so effortlessly, as if his mouth were a musical instrument that just let sound out when touched, when opened.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
A study published in the Nutrition Journal ranked hibiscus tea number one in total antioxidant content of all 280 beverages examined. In addition to anticancer effects, hibiscus tea has been found to be extremely effective against high blood pressure.
Rip Esselstyn (The Engine 2 Seven-Day Rescue Diet: Eat Plants, Lose Weight, Save Your Health)
eight cups of water, add a handful of bulk dried hibiscus or four bags of tea in which hibiscus is the first ingredient. Then add the juice of one lemon and three tablespoons of erythritol, and leave it in your fridge to cold-brew overnight. In the morning, strain out the hibiscus or take out the tea bags, shake well, and drink throughout the day.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
Aunty Ifeoma was silent as she ladled the thick cocoyam paste into the soup pot; then she looked up and said Papa-Nnukwu was not a heathen but a traditionalist, that sometimes what was different was just as good as what was familiar, that when Papa-Nnukwu did his itu-nzu, his declaration of innocence, in the morning, it was the same as our saying the rosary.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The orange-red lipstick named “Hibiscus Frenzy” that was produced by a giant American corporation, which Glamora was paid to wear so that every factory and office girl in England and America and possibly Australia who aspired to look like her would buy it, glowed under the sun.
Ilil Arbel (Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One)
When life gives you lemons,take a knife,rub it with hibiscus and show people how lemon bleeds.
C. Edward Derdowski
We believed Harriet had been collected in 1835 by Charles Darwin himself. She was brought to Australia from England in 1841 by Captain Wickham aboard the HMS Beagle. Actually, three giant Galapagos tortoises had been donated to the Brisbane Botanic Gardens, after Darwin realized they did not flourish in England, where he had originally taken them in 1835. How could we determine whether Harriet was one of the Darwin Three? Scott Thomson found a giant tortoise in the collection of the Queensland Museum that had been mislabeled an Aldabran tortoise. Carved on the carapace was the animal’s name. “Tom,” and “1929.” We now had potentially found two of the three Darwin tortoises. Harriet and Tom had been seen together in living memory. The third tortoise was never found and was presumed buried somewhere in the botanic gardens. Harriet lived on. Steve and I became very excited at this news. Our studies and research into Harriet’s history continued for years, and it was amazing to learn what a special resident we had at the zoo. Despite her impressive background, Harriet remained attractively modest. She had a sweet personality like a little dog. She loved hibiscus flowers, and certain veggies were her favorites. Steve carried on a practice that his parents had implemented: Whatever you feed animals should be good enough for you to eat. Thus Harriet got the most beautiful mustard greens, kale, eggplant, zucchinis, and even roses. In return, Harriet gave zoo visitors a rare chance to watch her keepers cuddle and scratch one of the grandest creatures on earth. She was the oldest living chelonian and the only living creature to have met Charles Darwin and traveled aboard the Beagle. And she gave us all something else, too--a lesson in how to live a long life. Don’t worry too much. Take it easy. Stop and munch the flowers. It was a lesson Steve noted and understood but could never quite take to heart. He was a meteor. Harriet was more of a mountain. In this world, we need both.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
Ironically enough, when we returned to the zoo, the Dr. Dolittle cameo almost came true. We had to transfer a big female crocodile named Toolakea to another enclosure. Steve geared up for the move as he always did. “Don’t think about catching Toolakea,” he instructed his crew, me included, before we ever got near to the enclosure. “If you’re concentrating on catching her, she’ll know it. We’ll never get a top-jaw rope on. Crocs know when they’re being hunted.” For millions of years, wild animals have evolved to use every sense to tune into the world around them. Steve understood that their survival depended on it. So as I approached the enclosure, I thought of mowing the lawn, or doing the croc show, or picking hibiscus flowers to feed the lizards. Anything but catching Toolakea. It went like clockwork. Steve top-jaw-roped Toolakea, and we all jumped her. He decided that since she was only a little more than nine feet long, we would be able to just lift her over the fence and carry her to her other enclosure. Steve never built his enclosures with gates. He knew that sooner or later, someone could make a mistake and not latch a gate properly. We had to be masters at fence jumping. He picked up Toolakea around her shoulders with her neck held firmly against his upper arm. This would protect his face if she started struggling. The rest of us backed him up and helped to lift Toolakea over the fence. All of a sudden she exploded, twisting and writhing in everyone’s arms. “Down, down, down,” Steve shouted. That was our signal to pin the crocodile again before picking her up. Not everyone reacted quickly enough. As Steve moved to the ground, the people on the tail were still standing up. That afforded Toolakea the opportunity to twist her head around and grab hold of Steve’s thigh. The big female croc sank her teeth deep into his flesh. I never realized it until later. Steve didn’t flinch. He settled the crocodile on the ground, keeping her eyes covered to quiet her down. We lifted her again. This time she cleared the fence easily. I noticed the blood trickling down Steve’s leg. We got to the other enclosure before I asked what had happened, and he showed me. There were a dozen tears in the fabric of his khaki shorts. A half dozen of Toolakea’s teeth had gotten through to his flesh, putting a number of puncture holes in his upper thigh. As usual, Steve didn’t bother with the wound. He cleaned it out and carried on, but even after his leg had healed, he couldn’t feel the temperature accurately on his leg. Once, about a month after the incident, I got a drink out of the fridge and rested it on his thigh. “I can feel something there,” he said. “Hot or cold?” I quizzed. “I don’t know,” he said. The croc-torn khaki shorts he wore that day made an amazing souvenir for a lucky sponsor of the zoo. People who donated a certain amount of money to our conservation efforts received a bonus in return: one of Steve’s uniforms and a photograph of him in it. Steve was very proud to include his khakis with teeth holes in them as the gift for a generous supporter.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
Tahitians don’t chase happiness. Happiness comes naturally to them. You only need to see them in the water, with a beer in their hand, splashing each other or waving to every stranger they see on the road, to know this. Happiness is in the air: in every hibiscus flower that opens early in the morning, in the sweet aroma of the pineapple plantations, in the smile of the people lolling around idly, resting slothfully in the warm breeze that ruffles the surface of the lagoon.
Carol Vorvain (Why Not? The island where happiness starts with a question)
Конечно, там не бывает отключения энергии, а из крана бежит не только холодная, но и горячая вода, но они больше не смеются. У них нет на это времени, потому что они почти не видят друг друга.
Чимаманда Нгози Адичи (Purple Hibiscus)
The broth... it's made with a mix of soy milk and charred miso. But how could you get a flavor this robust with just those?" "I mixed in grated ebi taro root. It's a strongly flavored tuber that mashes easily into a smooth, thick paste. Adding that to the broth gave it a creamy texture and a richer flavor." "Weird. All of a sudden I'm starting to feel warm." "That's the chili oil and grated raw garlic and ginger taking effect. The soy milk took the edge off of the spicy bite... so now it just gently warms the body without burning the tongue." "The rest of the ingredients are also a parade of detailed work. Thin slices of lotus root and burdock deep-fried to a crispy golden brown. Chunky strips of carrot and turnip grilled over an open flame until lightly charred and then seasoned with just a little rock salt to bring out their natural sweetness. Like a French buffet, each side ingredient is cooked in exactly the best way to bring out its full flavor! But the keystone to it all... ... is the TEMPEH!" TEMPEH Originating in Indonesia, tempeh is made of soybeans fermented into a cake form. Soybeans are lightly cooked and then wrapped in either banana or hibiscus leaves. When stored, the naturally occurring bacteria in the leaves causes the soybeans to ferment into tempeh. Traditional food with a history over four hundred years long, tempeh is well-known and often used in Indonesian cuisine. "Mm! Wow! It's really light, yet really filling too! Like fried rice." "It has a texture a lot like that of a burger patty, so vegetarians and people on macrobiotic diets use it a lot as a meat substitute. I broiled these teriyaki style in a mix of soy sauce and sake.
Yuto Tsukuda (食戟のソーマ 6 [Shokugeki no Souma 6] (Food Wars: Shokugeki no Soma, #6))
His new friends did not, perhaps, realize the overpowering effect of the sudden change upon this northernbred man; the effects of the moonlight and the soft trade-wind, the life of love which surrounded him here. Love whispered to him vaguely, compellingly. It summoned him from the palm fronds, rustling dryly in the continuous breeze; love was telegraphed through the shy, bovine eyes of the brown girls in his estate-house village; love assailed him in the breath of the honey-like sweet grass, undulating all day and all night under the white moonlight of the Caribbees, pouring over him intoxicatingly through his opened jalousies as he lay, often sleepless, through long nights of spice and balm smells on his mahogany bedstead—pale grass, looking like snow under the moon. The half-formulated yearnings which these sights and sounds were begetting were quite new and fresh in his experience. Here fresh instincts, newly released, stirred, flared up, at the glare of early-afternoon sunlight, at the painful scarlet of the hibiscus blooms, the incredible indigo of the sea—all these flames of vividness through burning days, wilting into a caressing coolness, abruptly, at the fall of the brief, tropic dusk. The fundament of his crystallizing desire was for companionship in the blazing life of this place of rapid growth and early fading, where time slipped away so fast. ("Sweet Grass")
Henry S. Whitehead
I told her one of the few stories that she'd told me of myself as a child. We'd gone to a park by a lake. I was no older than two. Me, my father, and my mother. There was an enormous tree with branches so long and droopy that my father moved the picnic table from underneath it. He was always afraid of me getting crushed. My mother believed that kids had stronger bones than grownups. "There's more calcium in her forearm than in an entire dairy farm," she liked to say. That day, my mother had made roasted tomato and goat cheese sandwiches with salmon she'd smoked herself, and I ate, she said, double my weight of it. She was complimenting me when she said that. I always wondered if eating so much was my best way of complimenting her. The story went that all through lunch I kept pointing at a gaping hole in the tree, reaching for it, waving at it. My parents thought it was just that: a hole, one that had been filled with fall leaves, stiff and brown, by some kind of ferrety animal. But I wasn't satisfied with that explanation. I wouldn't give up. "What?" my father kept asking me. "What do you see?" I ate my sandwiches, drank my sparkling hibiscus drink, and refused to take my eyes off the hole. "It was as if you were flirting with it," my mother said, "the way you smiled and all." Finally, I squealed, "Butter fire!" Some honey upside-down cake went flying from my mouth. "Butter fire?" they asked me. "Butter fire?" "Butter fire!" I yelled, pointing, reaching, waving. They couldn't understand. There was nothing interesting about the leaves in the tree. They wondered if I'd seen a squirrel. "Chipmunk?" they asked. "Owl?" I shook my head fiercely. No. No. No. "Butter fire!" I screamed so loudly that I sent hundreds of the tightly packed monarchs that my parents had mistaken for leaves exploding in the air in an eruption of lava-colored flames. They went soaring wildly, first in a vibrating clump and then as tiny careening postage stamps, floating through the sky. They were proud of me that day, my parents. My father for my recognition of an animal so delicate and precious, and my mother because I'd used a food word, regardless of what I'd actually meant.
Jessica Soffer (Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots)
When the rains finally came that drought year, Beka's Dad tried to persuade Lilla to concentrate on bougainvillea, crotons, and hibiscus. Plants like these grew easily and luxuriantly in the yard, but Lilla kept those trimmed back, and continued to struggle year after year in her attempt to cultivate roses like those she saw in magazines which arrived in the colony three months late from England.
Zee Edgell (Beka Lamb)
há certas coisas que acontecem e para as quais não podemos formular um porquê, para as quais os porquês simplesmente não existem e para as quais, talvez, eles não sejam necessários
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
She's seen women on the street with flowers behind their ears, along the road, in stores, on their way home from the fields carrying baskets of cassava, the yellowish white root that's used in every meal. She's seen the red hibiscus, the bulging ginger blossom, the bewitchingly aromatic frangipani behind the ears of men too, but she wasn't aware of this secret code for courting.
Anne Ostby (Pieces of Happiness)
The afternoon played across my mind as I got out of the car in front of the flat. I had smiled, run, laughed. My chest was filled with something like bath foam. Light. The lightness was so sweet I tasted it on my tongue, the sweetness of an overripe bright yellow cashew fruit.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Make sure you wear it on the left side. That means you're single and ready for new adventures. 'Left is for looking, right is for cooking.'" Lisbeth giggles, almost blushes, and lifts her hand to her head reflexively. She's seen women on the street with flowers behind their ears, along the road, in stores, on their way home from the fields carrying baskets of cassava, the yellowish white root that's used in every meal. She's seen the red hibiscus, the bulging ginger blossom, the bewitchingly aromatic frangipani behind the ears of men too, but she wasn't aware of this secret code for courting.
Anne Østby (Pieces of Happiness: A Novel of Friendship, Hope and Chocolate)
She's worked alongside him as they built their house on the vacant lot behind the sweet house and cultivated a small but fertile patch of cassava and sweet potatoes. Along the side wall of the house, a paradise of colors: tender pink hibiscus, fiery flamingo flowers, delicate purple orchids, and plump, juicy red protea.
Anne Østby (Pieces of Happiness: A Novel of Friendship, Hope and Chocolate)
The fragrance started off bright and happy, fresh-cut grass and sunshine, iced hibiscus tea, the best of a Sunday afternoon. Lavender and rose released their sweetness into the air so serenely you knew there was not a weed within ten yards of them. The scents filtered out through the store, and as Victoria and I watched, the customers began putting down their phones, looking about with greater interest, smiling at one another. "Well, you certainly made them friendly," Victoria said. I just smiled. The fragrance began to deepen. Vanilla, the clarion call of mothers in aprons and after-school cookies warm from the oven. The women's expressions softened. Your life can be like this, the fragrance said. Your children will love you. Then, slowly, lazily, in came the scent of jasmine. Victoria tilted her head. "Hello, troublemaker," she said. It floated out across the room, heavy and sensual, the essence of beautiful, younger women. Women who birthed children and wore bikinis within a month, or worse yet, never had children at all, their stomachs taut, their breasts ripe. Women who drew the wandering eyes of husbands. Then, even as the customers began shifting away from each other with polite, nervous smiles, there came another scent, lurking inside the jasmine, where it always waited- a touch of indole. A trail that led you downward, into the dirt. But not enough- the fragrance was still too sweet. It hovered in the store, off-kilter. "Hmm," Victoria said, her eyebrows pulling together. "Wait," I said. The want of balance was like an ache in the air. The fragrance reached out, searching, begging for completion. It didn't want sweet. It didn't want nice. And then, out of the skin, the sweat, the very heat of the women's thoughts, came the missing base note. Keen edged as a knife, it rose to meet the sweetness. Jealousy. As we watched, one of the women picked up a cashmere throw and clutched it to her chest. Another sat down on a leather couch, her arms spread out like a claim jumper. Mine. "Brilliant," Victoria said, stifling a laugh. "Absolutely brilliant.
Erica Bauermeister (The Scent Keeper)
Gus Simpson adored birthday cake. Chocolate, coconut, lemon, strawberry, vanilla- she had a particular fondness for the classics. Even though she experimented with new flavors and frostings, drizzling with syrups and artfully arranging hibiscus petals, Gus more often took the retro route with piped-on flowers or a flash of candy sprinkles across the iced top. Because birthday cake was really about nostalgia, she knew, about reaching in and using the senses to remember one perfect childhood moment. After twelve years as a host on the CookingChannel- and with three successful shows to her credit- Gus had made many desserts in her kitchen studios, from her creamy white chocolate mousse to her luscious peach torte, her gooey caramel apple cobbler and her decadent bourbon pecan pie.
Kate Jacobs (Comfort Food)
Diabetes (Types 1, 1.5 [LADA], and 2) and Blood Sugar Imbalance 5-MTHF: 1 capsule twice a day Amla berry: 2 teaspoons twice a day Ashwagandha: 1 dropperful twice a day Barley grass juice powder: 2 teaspoons twice a day Chaga mushroom: 2 teaspoons twice a day Glutathione: 1 capsule or 1 teaspoon liquid daily Hibiscus: 1 cup of tea twice a day Lemon balm: 2 dropperfuls or 1 cup of tea twice a day L-lysine: 2 500-milligram capsules twice a day Nascent iodine: 6 tiny drops daily Nettle leaf: 2 dropperfuls, 1 cup of tea, or 2 capsules twice a day Rose hips: 1 cup of tea twice a day Schisandra berry: 1 cup of tea twice a day Turmeric: 2 capsules twice a day Spirulina: 2 teaspoons twice a day Vitamin C: 4 500-milligram capsules Ester-C or 2 teaspoons liquid liposomal twice a day Vitamin B12 (as adenosylcobalamin with methylcobalamin): 1 dropperful twice a day Zinc (as liquid zinc sulfate): up to 1 dropperful twice a day
Anthony William (Liver Rescue)
Gallstones Cardamom: 1 dropperful daily Chicory root: 1 cup of tea daily Dandelion root: 1 cup of tea daily Ginger: 1 cup of tea, 2 capsules, or freshly grated or juiced to taste daily Hibiscus: 1 cup of tea daily Nettle leaf: 1 cup of tea, 2 capsules, or 2 dropperfuls daily Peppermint: 1 cup of tea daily Rose hips: 1 cup of tea daily Spirulina: 2 teaspoons daily Vitamin C: 2 500-milligram capsules Ester-C or 1 teaspoon liquid liposomal twice a day
Anthony William (Liver Rescue)
I personally do mostly kale, collards, and arugula, which also happen to have the added benefit of being cruciferocious. And you can enjoy it with a cup of hibiscus tea for added zing.
Michael Greger (How Not to Diet)
Aries: Holly, snapdragon, cactus, jonquil Taurus: Daffodil, clover, lilac, columbine, daisy Gemini: Azalea, honeysuckle, lily of the valley, heather Cancer: Iris, jasmine, water lily, white rose, gardenia Leo: Red rose, poppy, marigold, sunflower, dahlia Virgo: Lavender, myrtle, aster, fern, heather, daylily Libra: Cosmos, gardenia, pink rose, violet, hibiscus Scorpio: Orchid, violet, eucalyptus, foxglove, pinks, wolfsbane
Skye Alexander (The Everything Wicca and Witchcraft Book: Rituals, spells, and sacred objects for everyday magick (Everything®))
Nutritional Yeast (2 tsp) Two teaspoons of baker’s, brewer’s, or nutritional yeast contains roughly the amount of beta 1,3/1,6 glucans found in randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled clinical trials to facilitate weight loss. Cumin (Cuminum cyminum) (½ tsp with lunch and dinner) Overweight women randomized to add a half teaspoon of cumin to their lunches and dinners beat out the control group by four more pounds and an extra inch off their waists. There is also evidence to support the use of the spice saffron, but a pinch a day would cost a dollar, whereas a teaspoon of cumin costs less than ten cents. Green Tea (3 cups) Drink three cups a day between meals (waiting at least an hour after a meal so as to not interfere with iron absorption). During meals, drink water, black coffee, or hibiscus tea mixed 6:1 with lemon verbena, but never exceed three cups of fluid an hour (important given my water preloading advice). Take advantage of the reinforcing effect of caffeine by drinking your green tea along with something healthy you wish you liked more, but don’t consume large amounts of caffeine within six hours of bedtime. Taking your tea without sweetener is best, but if you typically sweeten your tea with honey or sugar, try yacon syrup instead.
Michael Greger (How Not to Diet)
Afterwards, Ada turned slow cartwheels on the terrace, watching the world change kaleidoscopically from purple to orange as the queen's crepe myrtles took turns with the hibiscus. The gardener was sweeping the lawn and his helper was cleaning down the curved cane chairs on the wide verandah. Ordinarily, cartwheeling was one of Ada's favorite things to do, but this afternoon her heart wasn't in it. Rather than enjoying the way the world spun around her, she felt dizzy, even queasy. After a time, she sat instead on the edge of the verandah near the spider lilies.
Kate Morton (The Clockmaker's Daughter)
Ada tore open the package to find a small black leather book inside. Between its covers were no words, but instead page after page of pressed flowers: orange hibiscus, mauve Queen's crepe myrtle, purple passionflower, white spider lilies, red powder puffs. All of them, Ada knew, had come from her very own garden, and in an instant she was back in Bombay. She could feel the sultry air on her face, smell the heady fragrance of summer, hear the songs of prayer as the sun set over the ocean.
Kate Morton (The Clockmaker's Daughter)
tradition of the coming-of-age novel’. With its ‘rich descriptions of physical
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Cecily sat back and wiped her sweating brow, stuck the trowel into the soil, then stood up and walked into the house to pour herself a glass of cool lemonade from the refrigerator. She stepped out onto the veranda to drink it and admire her handiwork. The garden was really starting to take shape now; the green lawns that swept down towards the valley were edged by beds of hibiscus and clusters of white and red poinsettias
Lucinda Riley (The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters, #6))
mechanisms for dealing with extremely sandy, excessively well-drained soils or rocky, cold soils in which moisture is limited for months at a time. Try alfalfa, aloe, artichokes, asparagus, blue hibiscus, chives, columbine, eucalyptus, garlic, germander, lamb’s ear, lavender, ornamental grasses, prairie turnip, rosemary, sage, sedum, shrub roses, thyme, yarrow, yucca, and verbena.
Abigail R. Gehring (Homesteading: A Backyard Guide to Growing Your Own Food, Canning, Keeping Chickens, Generating Your Own Energy, Crafting, Herbal Medicine, and More (Back to Basics Guides))
the thought that she might be gone for a long time. Amaka and I said we would go with her. But Jaja said he would not go, then was stonily silent as if he dared anyone to ask him why. Obiora said he would stay back, too, with Chima. Aunty Ifeoma did not seem to mind. She smiled and said that since we didn’t have a male, she would ask Father Amadi if he wanted to accompany us. “I will turn into a bat if Father Amadi says yes,” Amaka said. But he did say yes. When Aunty Ifeoma hung up the phone after talking to him and said he would be coming with us, Amaka said, “It’s because of Kambili. He would never have come if not for Kambili.” Aunty Ifeoma drove us to the dusty village about two hours away. I sat in the back with Father Amadi, separated from him by the space in the middle. He and Amaka
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
من المفيد في بعض الأحيان أن يكون المرء جريئاً .. فالجرأة مثل الماريجوانا التي لا ضرر منها إذا استعملت على نحو صحيح.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
عندما يشب حريق في منزل يتعين على من فيه الركض بعيداً قبل أن ينهار السقف على رأس من فيه.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Hibiscus: Coconut oil and hibiscus are the key to the thick mane of hair we see in individuals living in Kerala, India. Hibiscus has reviving properties – it feeds hair, anticipates untimely greying, and helps cure dandruff. Standard utilization of the blooms can help forestall balding as well. Crush a couple of blooms of hibiscus and blend with sesame oil or coconut oil to make a fine mixture. Apply this to the scalp and hair, leave on for a couple of hours, and then flush with cool water and a mellow cleanser. Have a go at utilizing hibiscus as a part of your approach to helping control male pattern baldness.
Emily Kirk (Natural Hair: How to Grow Long and Healthy Hair: Natural Hair-Care Recipes for Hair Growth and Health)
It is no wonder that historians trace the birth of Western civilization to these jewels of the Aegean, Ionian, and Mediterranean seas. The Greek Isles are home to wide-ranging and far-reaching cultural traditions and mythic tales, not to mention the colorful history and unforgettable vistas that still draw thousands of tourists to the region every year. Minoan ruins stand alongside Byzantine churches and Crusader fortresses. Terra-cotta pots spilling over with hibiscus flowers adorn blinding-white stucco houses that reflect the sun’s dazzling light. Fishing villages perched upon craggy cliffs overlook clusters of colorful boats in island harbors. Centuries-old citrus and olive groves dot the hillsides. Lush vegetation and rocky shores meet isolated stretches of sand and an azure sea. Masts bob left and right on sailboats moored in secluded inlets. Each island is a world unto itself. Although outsiders and neighbors have inhabited, visited, and invaded these islands throughout the centuries, the islands’ rugged geography and small size have also ensured a certain isolation. In this environment, traditional ways of life thrive. The arts--pottery, glass blowing, gem carving, sculpture, and painting, among others--flourish here today, as contemporary craft artists keep alive techniques begun in antiquity. In the remote hilltop villages of Kárpathos, for example, artisans practice crafts that date back eons, and inhabitants speak a dialect close to ancient Greek. Today, to walk along the pebbled pathways of a traditional Greek mountain village or the marbled streets of an ancient acropolis is to step back in time. To meander at a leisurely pace through these island chains by boat is to be captivated by the same dramatic landscapes and enchanted islets that make the myths of ancient Greece so compelling. To witness the Mediterranean sun setting on the turquoise sea is to receive one of life’s greatest blessings.
Laura Brooks (Greek Isles (Timeless Places))
Com freqüência fazíamos perguntas cujas respostas já sabíamos. Talvez fizéssemos isso para não precisarmos formular as outras perguntas, aquelas cujas respostas não queríamos saber.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
The picture enclosed here is of a hibiscus that has been flowering in the parlor window one bloom at a time for what seems like a year or more. It’s getting to where I don’t remember when there wasn’t a bud or two and a flower either out or on the way. This morning there is a fresh new flower just like the one in the picture, but right next to it is the one that was new yesterday and is already spent. I don’t know whether to be happy for the beautiful one or sad for the one that is gone. I guess if I wait until tomorrow I can be sad for the one that is so beautiful now. But how can I anticipate being sad for something that is so pretty? It’s really a good thing that people can only “see” the present because we are on the same train as a hibiscus except that we are on a longer trip. I’ve told you before but it fits in here so I will say it again. Sometimes I get feeling so good that I get afraid to anticipate the loss. If life could be a series of beautiful scenes and beautiful music and pleasant visits with people we love, then life should just go on forever. I suppose that’s why people get old and feeble with wandering minds. What is can end without too much loss, and what was did not stop so will be forever. Right now and as far as I can see, I want to be this morning’s flower. I’ll be a hibiscus. You be a rose…
M. Reed McCall (Moose Tracks on the Road to Heaven)
Eu sorrira, correra, rira. Meu peito estava repleto de alguma coisa parecida com espuma de banho. Leve. A leveza era tão doce que eu podia sentir seu gosto na língua, tinha a doçura de um caju maduro, amarelo-vivo.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
Nwunye m, sometimes life begins when marriage ends.” “You and your university talk. Is this what you tell your students?” Mama was smiling. “Seriously, yes. But they marry earlier and earlier these days. What is the use of a degree, they ask me, when we cannot find a job after graduation?” “At least somebody will take care of them when they marry.” “I don’t know who will take care of whom. Six girls in my first-year seminar class are married, their husbands visit in Mercedes and Lexus cars every weekend, their husbands buy them stereos and textbooks and refrigerators, and when they graduate, the husbands own them and their degrees. Don’t you see?” Mama shook her head. “University talk again. A husband crowns a woman’s life, Ifeoma. It is what they want.” “It is what they think they want. But how can I blame them? Look what this military tyrant is doing to our country.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Purple Hibiscus)
There were ceramic teapots in aubergine, mustard, and midnight blue (good for one, sweeter still when shared between two drinkers); and forty small, thin glasses with curved handles, set in gold- and silver-plated holders etched with arabesque swirls. Bahar gingerly lined the tea glasses up on the counter where the cappuccino machine had been stationed. She tucked the teapots into the counter's glass-paneled belly, where they sat prettily next to twenty glass containers of loose-leaf teas, ranging from bergamot and hibiscus to oolong.
Marsha Mehran (Pomegranate Soup)
The folds of red silk spread over the hot tiles looked like spilled blood, the blossoms on the carefully pruned hibiscus bushes behind like vivid splashes.
Fiona Lane (Para Kindred: Enigmas of Wraeththu)
Royal Hawaiian on the famed and romantic Waikiki Beach in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am looking into a garden filled with graceful palm trees, swaying in the balmy breeze. The air is laden with the aroma of exotic flowers. Hibiscus, of which on these islands there are two thousand varieties, fill the garden. Outside my windows are papaya trees laden with ripening fruit. The brilliant color of the royal poinciana, the flame of the forest trees, adds to the glamor of the scene; and the acacia trees are hung heavily with their exquisite white flowers. The incredible blue ocean surrounding these islands stretches away to the horizon. The white waves are surging in, and the Hawaiians and my fellow visitors are riding gracefully on surf-boards and outrigger canoes.
Anonymous
Perhaps the moral to that story was not to let the circumstances of life get the best of you. Perhaps it was being able to make the most of anything, even something as undesirable as dust.
Alice J. Wisler (Under the Silk Hibiscus)