欧宝娱乐

“Elohim was, in logical terminology, the genus of which ghosts, Chemosh, Dagon, Baal, and Jahveh were species. The Israelite believed Jahveh to be immeasurably superior to all other kinds of Elohim. The inscription on the Moabite stone shows that King Mesa held Chemosh to be, as unquestionably, the superior of Jahveh.”
― Thomas Henry Huxley, The Evolution Of Theology: An Anthropological Study

“Just as a concept becomes a unit when integrated with others into a wider concept, so a genus becomes a single unit, a species, when integrated with others into a wider genus. For instance, 鈥渢able鈥� is a species of the genus 鈥渇urniture,鈥� which is a species of the genus 鈥渉ousehold goods,鈥� which is a species of the genus 鈥渕an-made objects.鈥� 鈥淢an鈥� is a species of the genus 鈥渁nimal,鈥� which is a species of the genus 鈥渙rganism,鈥� which is a species of the genus 鈥渆ntity.”
― Ayn Rand, The Ayn Rand Lexicon: Objectivism from A to Z

“Last to check was her namesake: a rampion or bellflower, Campanula rapunculus-- little turnip. All by itself in a beautiful Spanish clay pot with a bright blue glaze. Its blooms were pinky-purple stars, tiny but perfect and delicate.
Sometimes, if she was feeling down, Rapunzel would secretly break off a leaf and chew it, the sour/bitter taste comforting her through the worst of the drab winter months when nothing else grew.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Biologists label organisms with a two-part Latin name, genus followed by species. Lions, for example, are called Panthera leo, the species leo of the genus Panthera. Presumably, everyone reading this quote is a Home sapiens - the species sapiens (wise) of the genus Homo (man).”
― Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind

“The day on which she turned eleven, Grandfather Bill had presented her with her very own orchid.
"This is especially for you, Julia. Its name is 'Aerides odoratum,' which means 'children of the air.'"
Julia studied the delicate ivory and pink petals of the flower sitting in its pot. They felt velvety beneath her touch.
"Where does this one come from, Grandfather Bill?" she had asked.
"From the Orient, in the jungles of Chiang Mai in northern Thailand."
"Oh. What kind of music do you think it likes?"
"It seems particularly partial to a touch of Mozart," chuckled her grandfather. "Or if it looks like it's wilting, perhaps you could try some Chopin!”
― Lucinda Riley, The Orchid House

“She shook her hair in the cool breeze and inhaled, the scents of lavender and rose and jasmine sweet in the lucent air. They passed fields where delicately scented rosa centifolia bushes grew. "How was the rose crop this year?"
"Excellent. We had a mild spring and a generous rainfall. Twenty to twenty-five blossoms on every branch. Our rose was indeed the 'queen of the flowers' this year, to quote the Greek poet Sappho." He lifted his chin and peered at her down his nose. "Our rose de mai is expensive, Danieeele, but far superior to others."
Laughter bubbled in her throat. "Your Gallic pride is showing, Philippe."
He expressed a puff of air between pursed lips. "Bulgaria? Morocco? You can't tell me their roses are better than mine."
"Just different," she said with patience. "Moroccan roses have a rich perfume, and Bulgaria's Valley of the Roses produces lovely damascena roses scented with a brilliant tinge of pear.”
― Jan Moran, Scent of Triumph