The Red Cross irritated Ugwu; the least they could do was ask Biafrans their preferred foods rather than sending so much bland flour.
What are your interests?" "Your son in my room," I said. "Excuse me?" "The sun and the moon," I said. "Astronomy.
You must never behave as if your life belongs to a man. Do you hear me?” Aunty Ifeka said. “Your life belongs to you and you alone.
Her bladder felt painfully, solidly full, as though it would burst and release not urine but the garbled prayers she was muttering.
Is love this misguided need to have you beside me most of the time? Is love this safety I feel in our silences? Is it this belonging, this completeness?
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
Love like life should be maddening to the point of fulfillment. It should make the sun shine brighter, and when they look at you, the earth should never be standing still.
People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
They do make love stories for girls with black hearts after all. They go like this.
It was right and wrong both. Love does as it undoes. It goes after, with equal tenacity, joy and heartbreak.
Maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people," I say. "Maybe we're accumulating these new selves all the time.
Why, it would be such fun,' he chuckled, 'to just forget all about the hours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasant ones.
You must not waste your one day here. When the sun shines, you let it shine on you. Snow is always waiting.
I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin.
The sun was up - stuck like half a tinned apricot on a sky awash with all the colours of a fading bruise. Down below the living dead were forming their complaining queues at bus stops.
I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!
If I could tell you about Red I would sing to you of fire Sweet like cherries Burning like cinnamon Smelling like a rose in the sun
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.
Dreams and restless thoughts came flowing to him from the river, from the twinkling stars at night, from the sun's melting rays. Dreams and a restlessness of the soul came to him.
Soon the grizzly was joined by a brown bear, a sun bear, and a beaver suffering from an identity crisis of magnificent proportion
Science literacy is being plugged into the forces that power the universe. There is no excuse for thinking that the Sun, which is a million times the size of Earth, orbits Earth.
