Quotes About Fuchsia

Memory in its ordinary way summoned harvested fields, and haycocks and autumn hedges, the first of the fuchsia, the last of the wild sweetpea. It brought the lowing of cattle, old donkeys resting, scampering dogs, and days and places.

But Fuchsia might as well have been carved from dark marble. Only her tears moved.

For in Mexico, ladies and gentlemen, it's always high noon and what glows is fuchsia and what's dead is dead and no feather-dusters.

there came from the olive groves outside the fuchsia hedge the incessant shimmering cries of the cicadas. If the curious, blurring heat haze produced a sound, it would be exactly the strange, chiming cries of these insects.

Watch the road! Don't look at me, look at the road. Except it's not really a road. It's a track. What are these damn bushes, and why are they here?" "It's fuchsia. Lovely, aren't they?" They made her think of blood spatter, possibly resulting from a massacre by a battalion of farm animals.

Friday beneath the sky, its little postcards of melancholy Outside each window, the engines inside the roses at half speed, The huge page of the sea with its one word despair, Fuchsia blossoms littered across the deck, Unblotted tide pools of darkness beneath the ferns … And still I go on looking, match after match in the black air.