Quotes About Quarry

Within this hollow bed of the stream the whole range of the quarry was out of sight, except for where the just visible peak of an escarpment of spoil shelved up to the horizon's mountainous coagulations of floating cottonwool, a density of white cloud perforated here and there by slowly opening and closing loopholes of the palest blue light.

Marble that was still attached to the mountain vein, or freshly quarried, was considered alive because porous stone retains moisture absorbed from the ground. Quarry sap makes the marble soft, sparkling, and easy to work. After exposure to the air, this calcium-soaked water evaporates, and the stone becomes drier and harder-cotto, Michelangelo calls it in his contract.

The itinerary of most antiquities from their source - tomb, temple, quarry - to the shelves of museums or private collectors is murky and often purposely concealed.

The doings of the quarry had always seemed some bright, forbidden secret. Now it was her secret, and holding it to herself felt warm and delicious, like drinking the last cup of honeyed tea.

Life is a quarry, out of which we are to mold and chisel and complete a character.

The undertaking of a careless man succeeds not, though he use the right expedients: a clever hunter, though well placed in ambush, kills not his quarry if he falls asleep.

But I think the real tension lies in the relationship between what you might call the pursuer and his quarry, whether it's the writer or the spy.

Men enjoy the hunt, you see, and once their quarry has been taken, they tend to lose all interest.

I called it the Hotel in the Quarry, because something inside me had been broken and crushed and carted away.

From the top of the quarry cliffs, one could see the New Jersey suburbs bordered by the New York City skyline.

To hunt successfully and survive, they had to know the habits of their quarry as well as they knew their own kin. Success depended as much on stalking as it did on weapons.

You have no sword…' 'Indeed, I have not. Do you think I will need one?' She leaned close to him. 'Now more than before, I would think.' 'Perhaps you are right. We must needs find a quarry.' 'The Barghast Range. A flint the colour of blood – I will invest it, of course, to prevent its shattering.' 'As you did once before, sister.' 'Long ago.' 'Aye, so very long ago.

I won't let you escape, my lovely prey thing!

It didn't look like any architectural style I knew. I had never seen anything like it. Curran closed his mouth with a click. "Where did they get the granite? The nearest quarry is hundreds of miles inland." "I don't care. I want it," Curran growled.

My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble.

What are those purple things?" "Carrots." "Carrots are orange." "And purple." He didn't mention the turnips and cauliflower in the mix. He knew his quarry. "Why would somebody dye a harmless carrot purple?" "They're not dyed, they're natural. Have some more wine," he said, topping off her glass, "and try them out.

She's a dangerous woman when she knows her quarry.

I spent my whole life avoiding the public eye. At these food shows, I'm open quarry again.

Firebirds are such frustating quarry. One minute it's all fiery tail feathers and red talons and the next, nothing but ash and a sore seat.

Life lies before us, as a huge quarry lies before the architect: he deserves not the name of architect, except when, out of this fortuitous mass, he can combine, with the greatest economy and fitness and durability, some form, the pattern of which originated in his spirit.

What had touched me sent me not into mindless silence but into a dream arena, where I was quarry.

You can be the hunter, or you can be the hunted.

I looked out the windshield in front of us at the milky water of the quarry. The surface shone brightly, even though it was completely dark now, which I thought was quite appropriate.

His quarry parties were the stuff of legend—trash cans brimming with wapatuli, music that was cool on the coasts but wouldn't reach Midwest airwaves for another six months, daring leaps from the highest granite cliffs into the inky pools below, some more than a hundred feet straight down. No gradual decline, just a fathomless, aching cavity scooped out of the earth, a wound that cold water seeped in to fill like blood.