Quotes About Worn

The road meandering around the hill bore the signs of intensive use. For it was used, and used intensively.

Mrs. Knowles looked off in the distance, which wasn't all that far in a trailer, and tapped her worn fingers on the arm of the recliner.

and hot raw wood. There was a guy behind a counter, in worn blue overalls stained black with dirt. He was

A bran' new book is a beautiful thing, all promise and fresh pages, the neatly squared spine, the brisk sense of a journey beginning. But a well-worn book also has its pleasures, the soft caress and give of the paper's edges, the comfort, like an old shawl, of an oft-read story.

Not literature alone, but society itself is wormed and rotten when language ceases to be respected not merely by advertisers and politicians, but by persons of learning and authority.

Men, she thought, were odd about their clothes: they liked to wear the same things until they became defeated and threadbare.

My life is like my shoes, worn out by service.

The hobo wore old black shoes that also looked like they were too big for him, but that might have been because he wasn't wearing any socks.

HAND, n. A singular instrument worn at the end of the human arm and commonly thrust into somebody's pocket.

Well-used memories, picked over and worn thin like a favourite shirt.

If you turn your face to the Sun, my boy, your soul will, when you come to die, feel like an autumn, with the golden fruits of the earth hanging in rich clusters ready to be gathered – not like a winter. You may feel ever so worn, but you will not feel withered. You will die in peace, hoping for the spring – and such a spring!

I'm dog-eared as a book")

There's the big advantage of backwardness. By the time the latest ideas reach Chicago, they're worn thin and easy to see through. You don't have to bother with them and it saves lots of trouble.

That treasure's been handled often, you forget, And the gilding's mostly rubbed away.

Esa joya ha rodado por tantas manos que el baño de oro está bastante desgastado.

your second-hand bicycles in the alleyways

grey as a used angel

he looked around at the books on the walls, at their dark, worn spines, and he seemed to hear a strange, distant murmur coming from them. each of the closed books was a door, and behind it stirred shadows, voices, sounds, heading toward him from a deep, dark place.

A knife with a worn blade and a cracked wooden handle lay at his feet. Reflexively, he bent to pick it up, and recoiled from it as if from a coiled snake. Something screamed in the emptiness, something deeper than resentment and thoughts of water, food, and healing. He backed away from the knife and stumbled through the open door into the darkest night ever known.     We

I think sometimes there might be an advantage in making people aware how worn and stale these old transgressions are. It might take some of the shine off them for those who are tempted.

Your mother goes to the public library, which has been down on its luck for a long time, like most things around here. Last time she brought back a copy of The Trail of the Lonesome Pine that was worn ragged, all held together with tape. She just sank into it, though, she just melted into it.

the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear

The roads to heaven have been worn smooth by all the erring instincts. Indeed, heaven was born of these errors.

Art cannot become worn out; from change to change it will alter its type, but each type will be beautiful, and none will be exhaustive.