Delia was an overbearing cake with condescending frosting, and frankly, I was on a diet.
Maggie StiefvaterTag: humor diet metaphor cake frosting
He would go to the bakery for a cake, and somewhere in the shop-I had never discovered where; it was one of the few secrets I had not fathomed-he kept a candle, which came out on this day every year, was lit, and which I blew out, with as good an impression of happiness as I could muster. Then we ate the cake, with tea, and settled down to quiet digestion and cataloging.
Diane SetterfieldTag: cake cataloging
The plane banked, and he pressed his face against the cold window. The ocean tilted up to meet him, its dark surface studded with points of light that looked like constellations, fallen stars. The tourist sitting next to him asked him what they were. Nathan explained that the bright lights marked the boundaries of the ocean cemeteries. The lights that were fainter were memory buoys. They were the equivalent of tombstones on land: they marked the actual graves. While he was talking he noticed scratch-marks on the water, hundreds of white gashes, and suddenly the captain's voice, crackling over the intercom, interrupted him. The ships they could see on the right side of the aircraft were returning from a rehearsal for the service of remembrance that was held on the ocean every year. Towards the end of the week, in case they hadn't realised, a unique festival was due to take place in Moon Beach. It was known as the Day of the Dead...
...When he was young, it had been one of the days he most looked forward to. Yvonne would come and stay, and she'd always bring a fish with her, a huge fish freshly caught on the ocean, and she'd gut it on the kitchen table. Fish should be eaten, she'd said, because fish were the guardians of the soul, and she was so powerful in her belief that nobody dared to disagree. He remembered how the fish lay gaping on its bed of newspaper, the flesh dark-red and subtly ribbed where it was split in half, and Yvonne with her sleeves rolled back and her wrists dipped in blood that smelt of tin.
It was a day that abounded in peculiar traditions. Pass any candy store in the city and there'd be marzipan skulls and sugar fish and little white chocolate bones for 5 cents each. Pass any bakery and you'd see cakes slathered in blue icing, cakes sprinkled with sea-salt.If you made a Day of the Dead cake at home you always hid a coin in it, and the person who found it was supposed to live forever. Once, when she was four, Georgia had swallowed the coin and almost choked. It was still one of her favourite stories about herself. In the afternoon, there'd be costume parties. You dressed up as Lazarus or Frankenstein, or you went as one of your dead relations. Or, if you couldn't think of anything else, you just wore something blue because that was the colour you went when you were buried at the bottom of the ocean. And everywhere there were bowls of candy and slices of special home-made Day of the Dead cake. Nobody's mother ever got it right. You always had to spit it out and shove it down the back of some chair.
Later, when it grew dark, a fleet of ships would set sail for the ocean cemeteries, and the remembrance service would be held. Lying awake in his room, he'd imagine the boats rocking the the priest's voice pushed and pulled by the wind. And then, later still, after the boats had gone, the dead would rise from the ocean bed and walk on the water. They gathered the flowers that had been left as offerings, they blew the floating candles out. Smoke that smelt of churches poured from the wicks, drifted over the slowly heaving ocean, hid their feet. It was a night of strange occurrences. It was the night that everyone was Jesus...
...Thousands drove in for the celebrations. All Friday night the streets would be packed with people dressed head to toe in blue. Sometimes they painted their hands and faces too. Sometimes they dyed their hair. That was what you did in Moon Beach. Turned blue once a year. And then, sooner or later, you turned blue forever.
Tag: fish sea cake ocean bones blue salt coin tombstones choked markers sea-burial
All sorrows in life stem from the lack of cake. If you had your own cake, you wouldn't bother trying to take away the other person's cake! And, if the cake you had were beautiful enough, you wouldn't bother trying to melt the icing on that other person's cake! And if you always had a very beautiful cake that was always beautiful enough, then you would have a smile on your face all the time and wouldn't even care if other people were enjoying their own cakes! Because you'd be enjoying yours, too! Therefore, I hereby decree that all sorrows can be fixed by many beautiful cakes! Bake a cake!
C. JoyBell C.Tag: inspirational-quotes life-and-living cake inspirational-life wisdom-quotes defeating-envy living-beautifully
I'd choose truth over cake but I'd try to find a way to get both to be honest.
Craig BenzineTag: humor cake youtube youtuber wheezywaiter
Кто говорил о пирожном? Где пирожное? Не шутите со мной такими вещами, я из Черногории, стреляю на голос, шорох, тень, силуэт, запах и... и... короче, лишь бы стрельнуть!
Андрей БелянинTag: cake
Bake with love..
Manuela KjeilenTag: love cake baking bake love-manuela manuela
I saw the world I had walked since my birth and I understood how fragile it was, that the reality was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger.
Neil GaimanTag: reality world cake hunger
How is destruction beautiful?" He asked in a challenging tone.
"You may think that a broken egg is ugly and messy," she answered, "but the cake it goes into is beautiful and won't hold together without it."
"Eggs don't get blown up. They get broken."
"You've never seen me bake," she replied with a smirk.
Tag: beauty destruction cake eggs things-that-go-boom
Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's the desire to put it inside us, and then the question behind every question: What happens next?
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