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“The fig tree had dropped its fruit all over the ground. Ripe figs lay in the dust, exploded, bloody, as if the sky had rained organs.”
Rupert Thomson“I don't know what I ate, but I felt immensely better after the first mouthful. It occurred to me that my vision of the fig-tree and all the fat figs that withered and fell to the earth might well have arisen from the profound void of an empty stomach.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar“For in that perfect garden when one day entered sin,An animal was murdered for garments made of skin.When figs of human effort produced religious strife,The Father tailored clothing for Adam and his wife.”
Joyce Rachelle, Sewing Figs“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar“To eat figs off the tree in the very early morning, when they have been barely touched by the sun, is one of the exquisite pleasures of the Mediterranean.”
Elizabeth David, An Omelette and a Glass of Wine“Figs are delicious with soft cheese and ham, Toast is quite scrumptious with butter and jam,Eggs are improved by parsley and salt, But milkshakes are best with strawberries and malt.”
Angelica Banks, Finding Serendipity“She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.”
Joe Hill, NOS4A2“Her gaze dims as her nostalgia for Palermo overcomes her. Those smells of seaweed dried by the sun, of capers, of ripe figs, she will never find them anywhere else; those burnt and scented shores, those waves slowly breaking, jasmine petals flaking in the sun.”
Dacia Maraini, The Silent Duchess“Juilin," she asked hesitantly, "what were you going to do with the salt and cooking oil? Not exactly," she added more quickly. "Just a general idea." He looked at her for a moment. "I do not know. But they did not, either. That is the trick of it; their minds made up worse then I ever could. I have seen a tough man break when I sent for a basket of figs and some mice.”
Robert Jordan, The Fires of Heaven