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“Make sure your sphere of influence is a piece of Heaven”
Sunday Adelaja“Piece of Heaven?" "No, that other place I'm going to go to for thinking what I'm thinking.”
Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell“Take me on a journey to the place of souls,” she whispered as he moved closer. “I want to close my eyes and feel a little piece of heaven…with you.”
Tracey-anne McCartney, A Carpet of Purple Flowers“I had to go through hell to get a piece of heaven?”
Nicole Reed, Ruining You“Now that it's over, I just wanna hold herI'd give up all the world to see That little piece of heaven looking back at me.Now that it's over, I just wanna hold her.I've gotta live with the choices I've madeAnd I can't live with myself today.”
Skillet“He died at the wrong time, when there was much to be clarified and established. They hadn’t even started to be grown-ups together. There was this piece of heaven, this little girl he’d carried around the shop on his shoulders; and then one day she was gone, replaced by a foreigner, an uncooperative woman he didn’t know how to speak to. Being so confused, so weak, so in love, he chose strength and drove her away from himself. The last years he spent wondering where she’d gone, and slowly came to realise that she would never return, and that the husband he’d chosen for her was an idiot.”
Hanif Kureishi, The Buddha of Suburbia“That's my little piece of heaven. Go ahead."Ciro followed Remo through the open door to a small enclosed garden. Terra-cotta pots positioned along the top of the stone wall spilled over with red geraniums and orange impatiens. An elm tree with a wide trunk and deep roots filled the center of the garden. Its green leaves and thick branches reached past the roof of Remo's building, creating a canopy over the garden. There was a small white marble birdbath, gray with soot, flanked by two deep wicker armchairs. Remo fished a cigarette out of his pocket, offering another to Ciro as both men took a seat. "This is where I come to think.""Va bene," Ciro said as he looked up into the tree. He remembered the thousands of trees that blanketed the Alps; here on Mulberry Street, one tree with peeling gray bark and holes in its leaves was cause for celebration.”
Adriana Trigiani, The Shoemaker's Wife