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“There was already a shop selling fabrics there; another sold mangoes and lentils and yams. There was a café- no alcohol, but mint tea, and glass-water pipes of kif- that fragrant blend of tobacco and marijuana so common in Morocco. There was a market every week, selling strange and exotic fruit and vegetables brought in from the docks at Marseille, and a little bakery, selling flatbread and pancakes and sweet milk rolls and honey pastries and almond briouats.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Old, yet beloved to my family,
the cart is marked with the prints
and sweat of our ancestors,
who began our journeys in trade.

I carry our world in this cart,
wares we have taken ages to create.
Foraging through earth and trees
to source our natural ingredients.

Wares I push with deep pride,
along the sloping, uneven terrain.
I can travel further with the cart
and expand my avenues for trade.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“हर कोà¤� इस बाज़ाà¤� मेà¤� सामाà¤� बन के आयà¤� है

HAR KOI IS BAZAAR MEIN SAMAN BAN KE AAYA HAI

EVERYONE HAS TURNED UP IN THE MARKET AS A WARE

15 Oct 2020 National Get to know your Customers Day (3rd Thursday of every Quarter - Jan, Apr, Jul, Oct)”
― Vineet Raj Kapoor

“The round table and four chairs looked as though they'd been plucked from a society wedding---shimmery-pink tablecloth, a full set of old and grass-green china, crystal glasses, low bouquets of plump blush-colored peonies. There was even a crystal candelabrum.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“From north to south, the island is just ten miles long, but it feels like a continent in its own right. There are bays and inlets, coves and mudflats, a winery, a berry farm, a llama farm, sixteen restaurants, a café that makes homemade cinnamon rolls and the best coffee I've ever tasted, and a market whose wares include locally produced raspberry wine and organic Swiss chard picked just hours before making its appearance in the produce section.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March

“Walking over the moonlit bridge, Tom found himself drawn deeper and deeper into the world of the market. Here, it was crowded, noisy; buzzing with scents both familiar and strange. The sharp aroma of some herbal stuff seemed to dominate this part of the bridge; the scented smoke was strongest around a little stall named Madcap, from which a pipe-smoking vendor was selling brightly colored pouches, marked at the price of Three days a twist. Next to him, a person of indeterminate gender was folding sheets of colored paper into origami birds, which they released into the air with a papery flutter of wings.
In spite of the crow woman's warning, Tom snapped a few more pictures. A dancer on the side of the bridge, her wings spread wide against the night. A diminutive woman with a whole haberdasher's shop balanced on her head: tiny drawers full of bobbins and lace, and packs of slender needles, and pincushions, and safety pins, and multicolored twists of silk. Next to her, cross-legged on the ground, an old woman in a drab overcoat was making garlands and buttonholes from baskets of strange-looking flowers that released an unfamiliar, intoxicating aroma. Her brown face lit up when she caught sight of Tom.
'Collector! What's it to be today? Another adventure? Your heart's desire? I know. True love!' And she picked up a white flower from one of her baskets and held it out to him with a smile. Its scent was complex, dark and sweet; the scent of a summer garden at night.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market