Crisp Quotes
Because he did have that gift, truly he did, he was the Man of a Thousand Voices and a Voice. If you wanted to know how your ketchup bottle should talk in its television commercial, if you were unsure as to the ideal voice for your packet of garlic-flavoured crisps, he was your very man. He made carpets speak in warehouse advertisements, he did celebrity impersonations, baked beans, frozen peas.
Salman Rushdie
The six elephants stood, roped each by the foreleg side by side in the vast thirty-foot tent put up several days since for their comfort; their trunks peacefully swaying as the cowardie scuttled back and forth with limp forkloads of hay. Small puffs of steam came from their mouths. Their breath was sweet, filling the sun-warmed, crisp air; and their hides, soothed, clean and lustrous from the water, lay calm on their great hips like the skin of the moon. Only at the end of the line the great...
Dorothy Dunnett
Tom Dancer’s gift of a whitebark pine cone
You never know
What opportunity
Is going to travel to you,
Or through you.
Once a friend gave me
A small pine cone-
One of a few
He found in the scat
Of a grizzly
In Utah maybe,
Or Wyoming.
I took it home
And did what I supposed
He was sure I would do-
I ate it,
Thinking
How it had traveled
Through that rough
And holy body.
It was crisp and sweet.
It was almost a prayer
Without words.
My gratitude, Tom...
Mary Oliver
The theory arrived neither full-blown, like an orphan on the doorstep, nor sharply defined, like a spike through a shoe; nor did it develop as would a photographic print, crisp images gradually emerging from a shadowy soup. Rather, it unwound like a turban, like a mummy bandage; started with the sudden loosening of a clasp, a scarab fastener, and then unraveled in awkward spirals from end to frazzled end.
Tom Robbins
Halfway to the house Stan stopped and turned to Jane. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him."I'm glad we're going steady," he whispered."So am I."In spite of the reassuring weight of his bracelet on her wrist, Jane suddenly felt shy. It seemed strange to be so close to Stan, to feel his crisp clean shirt against her cheek. She could not look up at him. Gently Stan lifted her face to his. "You're my girl," he whispered.-Fifteen
Beverly Cleary
As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.
Ernest Hemingway
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