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“It is an amazement of riches, ²µ±ô²¹³¦Ã© fruits and marzipan flowers and mountains of loose chocolates of all shapes and colors, and rabbits, ducks, hens, chicks, lambs, gazing out at me with merry-grave chocolate eyes like the terra-cotta armies of ancient China, and above it all a statue of a woman, graceful brown arms holding a sheaf of chocolate wheat, hair rippling. The detail is beautifully rendered, the hair added in a darker grade of chocolate, the eyes brushed on in white. The smell of chocolate is overwhelming, the rich fleshly scent of it drags down the throat in an exquisite trail of sweetness.”
― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

“The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.
Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total.
As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.
I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.
Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.
I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.
Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred.
It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before.
I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.”
― Roselle Lim, Natalie Tan's Book of Luck & Fortune

“Going by Dr. Marriott's description, Zoe imagined it to be small and elegant as she peered into dozens of shelves, rummaging through the contents. There were globes and charts and atlases, pocket watches and hand-painted Indian silk, gold-plated cutlery, litter coffers of spice, inlaid combs, silver fasteners, trinket boxes, blown-glass figurines, turn-of-the-century postcards with foreign stamps, and portraits of Victorian authors in elaborate frames. But nowhere did she discover a stone of any kind, with or without runes.”
― Christine Brodien-Jones, The Glass Puzzle

“So it wasn't until they were standing on ice-crisp grass in a spectacular winter garden that he noticed what Sylvie was holding.
She blinked placidly as she gave Gaston-Dominic a pat on his mullet.
"Unless you're planning to eat that," he said, "you'd better not be taking it in the car."
Her look was drenched with pity for his poor struggling wits.
"Obviously, I'm taking it in the car." She smiled beatifically at it. "I'm going to put it in the kitchens at Sugar Fair as our new mascot."
Before he could voice one of several comments on that, she reached into her bag and pulled out another item she'd purloined from the tables. It was a pink sugar Cadillac, reasonably identifiable and Emma's one real success today.
Carefully, she propped up G-D in it.
"What--"
"How else is he going to get around with those teeny legs?"
Absolute last straw.”
― Lucy Parker, Battle Royal

“As soon as the meeting was adjourned, Piper sprang eagerly from her seat and went over to look at the netsuke. Minute scales were precisely carved into a tiny coiled snake. Every whisker appeared on a sleeping calico. A writhing dragon licked flames with his jagged tongue. But the netsuke that fascinated Piper the most was a monkey perched on a rock as it wrestled and held down the tentacles of a small octopus. The hairs of the monkey and the expression on its face were equally detailed. Even the tiny suction cups on the octopus's tentacles could be seen.
"That's one of my favorites."
Piper looked up to see Cryder standing there.
"In the Japanese legend," he continued, "the octopus was a physician to the Dragon King of the Sea and prescribed a monkey's liver to heal the king's daughter. But the smart little monkey evaded capture.”
― Mary Jane Clark, Footprints in the Sand