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Nobody knows if Zidane is an angel or demon. He smiles like Saint Teresa and grimaces like a serial killer.

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Carol Birch

There's no way out of this, it's stark: live or die. Every given moment a bubble that bursts. Step on, from one to the next, ever onwards, a rainbow of stepping stones, each bursting softly as your foot touches and passes on. Till one step finds only empty air. Till that step, live.

Air, Feet, Moment, Rainbow, Step, Way
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It’s one of the things I love about the sea, the way you can see weather afar. It’s like looking at the future.

Afar, Like, Love, Sea, Things I Love, Weather

Storytelling strengthens the imagination. To imagine is to envision, to see with the inward eye. This ability to imagine is the basis of all creativity. Creativity is being able to see beyond what is readily apparent. It is seeing a new answer to an old problem.

Apparent, Basis, Creativity, Eye, Imagination, Seeing

It was the first smile of my life. Of course, that is a ridiculous thing to say; I had been smiled at often, the big man had smiled at me not a minute since. And yet I say: it was the first smile, because it was the first that ever went straight into me like a needle too thin to be seen.

Firsts, Man, Men, Smile, Straight

Mr. Jamrach led me through the lobby and into the menagerie. The first was a parrot room, a fearsome screaming place of mad round eyes, crimson breasts that beat against bars, wings that flapped against their neighbours, blood red, royal blue, gypsy yellow, grass green. The birds were crammed along perches. Macaws hung upside down here and there, batting their white eyes, and small green parrots flittered above our heads in drifts. A hot of cockatoos looked down from on high over the shrill madness, high crested, creamy breasted. The screeching was like laughter in hell.

Breasts, Eye, Laughter, Parrots, Wings
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