“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.”

“Hyacinth,” Lady Bridgerton said in a vaguely disapproving voice, “do try to speak in complete sentences.”Hyacinth looked at her mother with a surprised expression. “Biscuits. Are. Good.” She cocked her head to the side. “Noun. Verb. Adjective.”“Hyacinth.”“Noun. Verb. Adjective.” Colin said, wiping a crumb from his grinning face. “Sentence. Is. Correct.”

“Biscuits, biscuits: wherefore art thou biscuits? Hath mine beloved hidden thou once more from mine eyes? Alas, mine coffee cries out. Lo!”

“Communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social, and the kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor the antithesis of capitalism but in a higher synthesis. It is found in a higher synthesis that combines the truths of both.”

“But life at its best is a creative synthesis of opposites in fruitful harmony.”

“...there was little that was truly original or indigenous to Gilead. Its genius was synthesis.”