The plants filled the place, a forest of them, with nasty meaty leaves and stalks like the newly washed fingers of dead men. They smelled as overpowering as boiling alcohol under a blanket. *
Martin Johnson Heade Cattleya Orchid and Three Hummingbirds, 1871 via amalgammaray
Dear PINK’s
There’s very little that I can eat and my sleep is so close to waking that it is hardly worth the name. I seem to exist largely on heat, like a newborn spider, and the orchids are an excuse for the heat. Do you like orchids?”
“Not particularly,” I said.
The General half-closed his eyes. “They are nasty things. Their flesh is too much like the flesh of men. And their perfume has the rotten sweetness of a prostitute.” *
PINK NOT DEAD!
* Raymond Chandler The Big Sleep 1939
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