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“The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. Many politicians promise green, green grass by blending niceties with delusion and by using alluring confidence tricks. They voice attractive tales and tell things, people like to hear. But the post-factual grassland often appears to be parched and barren. ("The grass was greener over there")”
― Erik Pevernagie

“I have become intoxicated again.
You are such a potent wine, my friend.
To escape your withdrawal effects,
tomorrow I will drink in excess.

Alas, why make me love?
I was aware, conscious, and sensible before.
I am ill by cause of this illusion.
The devil plays tricks on me more and more.

I was a harp you immaculately plucked at will.
Your score, the nightingale song within
notes composed to imprison and bear me wings.
Oh, if only they could hear how it sings!

I am now beyond parched.
My strings left untouched.
You are no longer an oasis, my friend,
but a mirage soon coming to an end.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“I didn’t want to hear that people lived happily ever after. I wanted to know that other people suffered, too.”
― Heather King, Parched: A Memoir

“There is a deep dryness of the soul and all of the recalcitrant contrivances of man to quench his own thirst will bring not a single drop of moisture to those parched places, for God and God alone holds the water that satiates the soul.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough, Flecks of Gold on a Path of Stone: Simple Truths for Life's Complex Journey

“There is silence, only the pitter-patter of rain hitting the skylight above my bed. Do I roll over and fall back asleep or get up? This is always the dilemma. Long ago I lived for such rainy days, when I would make myself a cup of cocoa, climb back into bed, snuggle under the comforter, and just listem to the storm outside. Perhaps I would benefit from doing the same today. Recently, when I sought council from a minister friends, she affirmed my conclusion that I was stuck. "You're in the dessert," she said, "and you're parched, but not dried out." As she talked, I pictured myself sitting on a stump in the middle of a vast wasteland, surrounded by nothing save miles of adobe-colored, hardened soil, with no escape route insight. "You've got not alternative but to simply sit still and listen. In time you'll hear the answers.”
― Joan Anderson, A Year by the Sea: Thoughts of an Unfinished Woman