(Photo from emma block.)It's been some time since I've posted a "Good Words" entry. The point is to capture words that I find especially beautiful or interesting in books I am reading. Things that capture my imagination or heart... Passages that make me think, "I wish I could write like that!" I go back to these entries for inspiration when I am trying to write myself. I just finished Cutting for Stone. It was wonderful on many different levels but one main draw was the author's beautiful use of language. So here are some "Good Words" for you to consider from Abraham Verghese. Book review to come...
According to Shiva, life is in the end about fixing holes... But there's another kind of hole, and that is the wound that divides family. Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth, sometimes it happens later. We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime. We'll leave much unfinished for the next generation. (pg. 8)
Stone bit off a laugh...He sat on the hammock and watched as life's only sure blessing - sleep - came to her... (pg. 23)
When he operated late into the night and into the morning, she was across from him, more constant than his own shadow, dutiful, competent, uncomplaining, and never absent. Until, that is, the day when my brother and I announced our presence in her womb and our unstoppable desire to trade the nourishment to f the placenta for the succor of her breasts. (pg. 30)
Her mother's frown threatened to swallow her nose... (pg. 46)
By the time he'd turned around, the mask of joviality which has fallen into the sink had been slapped back on, not a seam showing. (pg. 343)
The tiled roof of the older section sagged between the chimneys while the middle floors pushed out gently like love handles. The decorative grille under the eaves had oxidized to a bile green, old corrosion ran down the brick like mascara, parallel to the drainpipes. (pg. 385)
I remembered our kitchen at Missing and how the dust motes dancing in the morning rays formed their own galaxy. (pg. 429)
When at last he feels it safe to take his chair to the window, the leaves have gone from carrot to brick to crimson and every hue in between, a palette beyond the imagination of any painter. He sits there like a statue, grateful for being able to sit, to see things for what they are. Leaves spiral down, each descent unique and never to be repeated. A million voyagers leave their invisible trails in the air. (pg. 449)
And also some specific words I found interesting or unfamiliar. Click on the word to see it's definition:
He was met by a miasma at once familiar and alarming, but he couldn't place it. (pg. 37)
Though I have possession of {it}, stroking it, palpating it, I am also his amanuensis. (pg. 185)
At night Thomas could hear his uneven footsteps like those of a giant in a bedroom of Lilliputian dimensions who could not help knocking over furniture. (pg. 436)
...it was the last of what I had cooked, frozen, and packed in aliquots many weekends ago. (pg. 490)
According to Shiva, life is in the end about fixing holes... But there's another kind of hole, and that is the wound that divides family. Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth, sometimes it happens later. We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime. We'll leave much unfinished for the next generation. (pg. 8)
Stone bit off a laugh...He sat on the hammock and watched as life's only sure blessing - sleep - came to her... (pg. 23)
When he operated late into the night and into the morning, she was across from him, more constant than his own shadow, dutiful, competent, uncomplaining, and never absent. Until, that is, the day when my brother and I announced our presence in her womb and our unstoppable desire to trade the nourishment to f the placenta for the succor of her breasts. (pg. 30)
Her mother's frown threatened to swallow her nose... (pg. 46)
By the time he'd turned around, the mask of joviality which has fallen into the sink had been slapped back on, not a seam showing. (pg. 343)
The tiled roof of the older section sagged between the chimneys while the middle floors pushed out gently like love handles. The decorative grille under the eaves had oxidized to a bile green, old corrosion ran down the brick like mascara, parallel to the drainpipes. (pg. 385)
I remembered our kitchen at Missing and how the dust motes dancing in the morning rays formed their own galaxy. (pg. 429)
When at last he feels it safe to take his chair to the window, the leaves have gone from carrot to brick to crimson and every hue in between, a palette beyond the imagination of any painter. He sits there like a statue, grateful for being able to sit, to see things for what they are. Leaves spiral down, each descent unique and never to be repeated. A million voyagers leave their invisible trails in the air. (pg. 449)
And also some specific words I found interesting or unfamiliar. Click on the word to see it's definition:
He was met by a miasma at once familiar and alarming, but he couldn't place it. (pg. 37)
Though I have possession of {it}, stroking it, palpating it, I am also his amanuensis. (pg. 185)
At night Thomas could hear his uneven footsteps like those of a giant in a bedroom of Lilliputian dimensions who could not help knocking over furniture. (pg. 436)
...it was the last of what I had cooked, frozen, and packed in aliquots many weekends ago. (pg. 490)
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