欧宝娱乐

“Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched鈥攂y genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.鈥� (p.33)”
― Tim Willocks, The Religion

“La memoria es como libro en el cual se escribe toda nuestra vida. Algunas veces deseamos cerrarlo y olvidarlo para no recordar todos los escabrosos detalles, y otras veces deseamos abrirlo y observarlo detenidamente, queriendo volver a sentir lo mismo que sentimos en aquel momento.”
― Audrey Dry, Sin mirar atr谩s

“Hazel had promised to visit again with Arion. The mermaids had written their phone numbers in waterproof ink on Hazel鈥檚 arm so that she could keep in touch. Leo didn鈥檛 even want to ask how mermaids got cell-phone coverage in the middle of the Atlantic.”
― Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena

“鈥斅緾贸mo una persona puede sentirse sola cuando est谩 rodeada de gente? 鈥攍e pregunt茅.
鈥擲upongo que en eso consiste la soledad 鈥攎e respondi贸鈥�. En aislarte cuando se supone que tienes que sentirte rodeada.”
― Audrey Dry, Sin mirar atr谩s

“Y, entonces, en ese instante que tan solo dura un segundo, el cerebro se encarga de abrir la cerradura del cofre en el cual guardas todo lo que aprecias. Cede de tal manera que la tapa se abre y todo lo que hay en el interior sale de forma tan r谩pida y tan fugaz que no puedes detenerlo.”
― Audrey Dry, Sin mirar atr谩s

“The Atlantic has my jaw in its fist because my teeth
and tongue have curled into knuckles.
The Atlantic has Africa in its fist
because they鈥檝e been trading ghosts for centuries.

The Atlantic has Haiti in its fist
because the slaves had so much fight
it filled up the moon;
the moon moves everything.”
― Jacqui Germain, When the Ghosts Come Ashore

“Pienso que cada uno es como un libro, con una sinopsis diferente y una portada distinta. Cada libro est谩 en su estanter铆a correspondiente y en su balda adecuada junto con otros libros similares. Yo, en cambio, soy un libro solitario, abandonado en un estante olvidado.”
― Audrey Dry, Sin mirar atr谩s

“There, on the far side of of the Atlantic, would be Maine, but despite the shared ocean, her island and this one were worlds apart. Where Inishmaan was gray and brown, its fragile man-made soil supporting only the hardiest of low-growing plants, the fertile Quinnipeague invited tall pines in droves, not to mention vegetables, flowers, and improbable, irrepressible herbs. Lifting her head, eyes closed now, she breathed in the damp Irish air and the bit of wood smoke that drifted on the cold ocean wind. Quinnipeague smelled of wood smoke, too, since early mornings there could be chilly, even in summer. But the wood smoke would clear by noon, giving way to the smell of lavender, balsam, and grass. If the winds were from the west, there would be fry smells from the Chowder House; if from the south, the earthiness of the clam flats; if from the northeast, the purity of sweet salt air.”
― Barbara Delinsky, Sweet Salt Air

“This city with remnants of war. The roads glow with an overcharge of streetlights. I smell the ocean's combustion from the window. Inhale the sulphur of post-rain air. The town dissolves inside my body like crumbs, as the slow release of paracetamol into the liver.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta