My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand. His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black ...as a raven. His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set. His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh. His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl, his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires. His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars. His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
And silence her six And mix... Her spices and core And slice her apples, and find her four. Continuing her part Of the world's business.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
These women behind the store windows? Dreams, sir, dreams at bargain prices, a trip to the Indies! These people perfume themselves... with spices. You enter, they close the curtains, and the trip begins. The gods descend on the nude bodies and the islands drift, demented, with the tousled hair of palm trees in the breeze.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
There are very few men and women, I suspect, who cooked and marketed their way through the past war without losing forever some of... the nonchalant extravagance of the Twenties. They will feel, until their final days on earth, a kind of culinary caution: butter, no matter how unlimited, is a precious substance not lightly to be wasted; meats, too, and eggs, and all the far- brought spices of the world, take on a new significance, having once been so rare. And that is good, for there can be no more shameful carelessness than with the food we eat for life itself. When we exist without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
See where my Love sits in the beds of spices, Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses,... And interlaced with curious devices Which her apart from all the world incloses! There doth she tune her lute for her delight, And with sweet music makes the ground to move, Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight, Wailing alone my unrespected love;LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
He looked like the love thoughts of women. He could be a bee to a blossom--a pear tree blossom in the spring. He seemed to be crus...hing scent out of the world with his footsteps. Crushing aromatic herbs with every step he took. Spices hung about him. He was a glance from God.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The only fruit which even much living yields seems to be often only some trivial success,--the ability to do some slight thing bet...ter. We make conquest only of husks and shells for the most part,--at least apparently,--but sometimes these are cinnamon and spices, you know.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »