© The Flying Man - Roopa Farooki
Showing posts with label must read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label must read. Show all posts
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
What a beautiful book!
I enjoyed it so much. Did not know whether I should gobble it up quickly or savour it!
© The Flying Man - Roopa Farooki
© The Flying Man - Roopa Farooki
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
A lazy day reading
Sunday I read most of the day. This book had a good rhythm to it. Lovely.
The cover, I find, is very misleading, it not that type of book at all.
page 4: You could hear the waves lapping lazily against the shore like a snoring guard dog, but we caught only narrow glimpses of the blueness.
The cover, I find, is very misleading, it not that type of book at all.
page 83: Is the heart always failing itself or by nature unfaithful?
page 149: Suddenly her beauty would look sorrowful: a fruit bruising in front of my eyes. The sun would roll off the horizon and leave the river mute and grey. It was difficult then to imagine the light ever returning.
page 236: She was older, tears clinging to her eyelids like diamonds.
Anatomy of a Disappearance © Hisham Matar 2011
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
Ek hou van hom
© 2011 deur Nataniël House of Music
Monday, 10 October 2011
BACK2BACK
page 230: My boots crunch on the loose stones and there's a cold mist on my face that tastes like life.
Plugged © Eoin Colfer 2011
page 3: The coffee here, thank you for asking, is the worst f•••ing coffee I have ever tasted, and that's saying something, considering the shit my second wife used to make.
page 20: ... and Kebreth did get stronger, he did get braver, as strong as one of Selassie's lions, as brave as one of his tigers, while I remained a coward, which is why he is dead and I am still alive.
page 56: and when I woke up my mother was in the bed beside me, her knees curled up under her chin, looking seventeen again, but gaining ten hard years the moment she opened her eyes.
page 100: My brain remains my best feature, never sleeping, never stopping, grey with fear.
The Coffee Story © Peter Salmon 2011
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Read all you can
page 55: O, alas, alas for his debauched children, flesh of his flesh, heir to all his failings and none of his strengths!
page 81: Was faith not faith but simple family habit? Maybe there was no true religion but only this eternal handing down.
The Enchantress of Florence © Salman Rushdie, 2008
The Restaurant of Love Regained
page 178: I wish I could recall more about that special day. But I’m afraid that if I did, I might crumble. Things like this, the most precious things in the world, I keep them all safely locked away in my chest where nobody can even touch them. Where the sun can never fade them. Where the wind and rain can never harm them.
The Restaurant of Love Regained © Ito Ogawa, 2008
Last Man in Tower
page 5: the face of this tower, once pink, is now rainwater-stained, fungus-licked grey, although veins of primordial pink show wherever the roofing has protected the walls from the monsoon rains.
page 42: ...with drandruff sprinkled likes spots of wisdom on the shoulders of his green kurta.
page 89: ‘If I had designed the human body, I’d have done a better job, Rosie. The materials used are not the best. Corners have been cut. The structure collapses too soon.’ He laughed.
page 209: Just outside the bedroom, a bird began to trill, its notes long and sharp like a needled thread, as if it were darning some torn corner of the world.
Last Man in Tower © Aravind Adiga, 2011
Friday, 9 September 2011
Friday, 24 June 2011
Hand on my heart
I wrote this years ago and I still love it.
I use my hands to rub sleep from my eyes, to throw back the duvet and push myself off the bed. I use my hands to grasp the toilet paper, brush my teeth, turn on the taps, grab the soap. I use my hands to lather up my hair, to rub my body dry with a towel. With my hands I fasten my bra, pull a t-shirt over my head and apply lipstick. I use my hands to cup the head of my dog and kiss him. To fill the kettle. I wrap my hands around a warm mug of tea, and use them to bring its sweetness to my lips. I use my hands to open the door, to scatter seeds for the birds, pick a flower, and feel the temperature of the water. I rub my hands together to keep them warm, rub them on my jeans to clean them, rub them over velvet to feel its smoothness, and rub lotion on my face. With my hands I steer my car to work, type an email to a friend, order a book from Amazon. I use my hands to eat that delicious burger, rest my chin upon while I think, point out something to a colleague. I raise my hands to greet a friend in a crowded restaurant, or wave goodbye at the airport. With my hands I carry my shopping, and pack it away. I ruffle my dog’s coat, and can keep someone distant or bring them close. Hold a lover, cuddle a child. Wipe a tear. Blow my nose. I remember, as a child, my mom held my hand when we crossed the road and my dad scooped me up with his when I was scared. With my hands I push the child forward on the bike, on the swing, into a new school. I tie their shoelaces, hold their ice cream, wipe their mouth. I use my hands to change channels, to grasp a handful of popcorn, to page through a magazine. My hands open jars, packets, books, drawers, cupboards and just as easily close them. I use my hands to hold on tight during a rollercoaster ride, and to clap with delight during a performance. I can soothe a hurt with my hands, give a gift, pay for a chocolate, strum a guitar. I reach out my hands to gladly accept a present, a letter, a plate of food, a drink. I use my hand to stifle a yawn, to hide a smirk, to pluck my eyebrows. With my hands I write you a note, draw a picture, sign my dissatisfaction. I put my hands over my heart when there is bad news, but on my head when I don’t know what to do. I place my hands firmly on the ground to do a cartwheel, on my hips to stress a point. With my hands I gently touch your face to say I love you, pull you to your feet when you’re feeling down. With my hands I tell the story.
I use my hands to rub sleep from my eyes, to throw back the duvet and push myself off the bed. I use my hands to grasp the toilet paper, brush my teeth, turn on the taps, grab the soap. I use my hands to lather up my hair, to rub my body dry with a towel. With my hands I fasten my bra, pull a t-shirt over my head and apply lipstick. I use my hands to cup the head of my dog and kiss him. To fill the kettle. I wrap my hands around a warm mug of tea, and use them to bring its sweetness to my lips. I use my hands to open the door, to scatter seeds for the birds, pick a flower, and feel the temperature of the water. I rub my hands together to keep them warm, rub them on my jeans to clean them, rub them over velvet to feel its smoothness, and rub lotion on my face. With my hands I steer my car to work, type an email to a friend, order a book from Amazon. I use my hands to eat that delicious burger, rest my chin upon while I think, point out something to a colleague. I raise my hands to greet a friend in a crowded restaurant, or wave goodbye at the airport. With my hands I carry my shopping, and pack it away. I ruffle my dog’s coat, and can keep someone distant or bring them close. Hold a lover, cuddle a child. Wipe a tear. Blow my nose. I remember, as a child, my mom held my hand when we crossed the road and my dad scooped me up with his when I was scared. With my hands I push the child forward on the bike, on the swing, into a new school. I tie their shoelaces, hold their ice cream, wipe their mouth. I use my hands to change channels, to grasp a handful of popcorn, to page through a magazine. My hands open jars, packets, books, drawers, cupboards and just as easily close them. I use my hands to hold on tight during a rollercoaster ride, and to clap with delight during a performance. I can soothe a hurt with my hands, give a gift, pay for a chocolate, strum a guitar. I reach out my hands to gladly accept a present, a letter, a plate of food, a drink. I use my hand to stifle a yawn, to hide a smirk, to pluck my eyebrows. With my hands I write you a note, draw a picture, sign my dissatisfaction. I put my hands over my heart when there is bad news, but on my head when I don’t know what to do. I place my hands firmly on the ground to do a cartwheel, on my hips to stress a point. With my hands I gently touch your face to say I love you, pull you to your feet when you’re feeling down. With my hands I tell the story.
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