Quotes About Glass

Kinship. Could they guess how indescribably exotic that was after the barren, selfish world in which she'd spent her life, like a potted plant that had never seen the real sun, nor the real earth, nor heard the rain except against double-paned glass?

As the serpentine expanse of glass drew open, the city seemed to wrap around them: rooftop gardens with stunted trees in pots, water towers like chunky flying saucers, the spires of distant skyscrapers.

Without a word or hesitation, Pain took the mop from Nick. Suffering moved to pick up glass. Wow. Where have you two been all my life? Pain quirked and eyebrow as he mopped the floor. Walking hand in hand with you. Haven't you noticed?

I deliberately spilled the black ink of despair because my perfect soul was a stained glass illusion - can you understand that?...

you are enchanted - only a princess can leave glass footprints in the snow...

you were a jumble of broken bits of glass the sun caught and stained my soul with your colors....

I've always thought of mosaic as this big metaphor for my life," she says. "All these jagged, incongruous pieces…" She holds up a small shard of milky jade-green glass. "These are like the things that happen to you. But if it's laid out a certain way and if you take a step back from it, it makes sense.

You know who invented the twist, right?" asked the man next to him. "It was John D. Rockefeller. He was a germophobe, and citrus was a natural disinfectant, so Rockefeller always asked his bartenders to run a lemon peel around the rim of his glass.

I've always thought of mosaic as this big metaphor for my life," she says. "All these jagged, incongruous pieces…" She holds up a small shard of milky jade-green glass. "These are like the things that happen to you. But if it's laid out a certain way and if you take a step back from it, it makes sense." Edie

You know who invented the twist, right?" asked the man next to him. "It was John D. Rockefeller. He was a germophobe, and citrus was a natural disinfectant, so Rockefeller always asked his bartenders to run a lemon peel around the rim of his glass." Eddie

Shan stared at his glass, then lifted it under his nose. It was the closest he would knowingly get to tasting the hard liquor. It was not because it would violate the vows of the monks, which he had not taken, but because somehow it felt as though it would violate his teachers who still sat behind prison wire in Lhadrung.

The more swiftly we proceed, the less time the enemy has to plan." "Do glass demons think?" "Under the circumstances, it's safest to assume they're up there drawing tactical maps in full relief." "Your argument has merit,

Peter handed me a glass of wine—my own Neon White Red,

Chalcedony wasn't built for crying. She didn't have it in her, not unless her tears were cold tapered glass droplets annealed by the inferno heat that had crippled her.

A shiver went through the shuttle's hide as it latched on the starship like a remora to a shark. Patty laid her hand against the glass, a similar shiver rippling her skin.

Kit had come to think of the Darkling Glass as a sort of consequence, reliable as a faithful hound; and it annoyed him to no end to find the thing suddenly misbehaving.

He left her and looked round for his glass again. Meanwhile, he said to himself in a quoting voice: "We are minor in everything but our passions." "Wherever did you read that?" "Nowhere: I woke up and heard myself saying it, one night." "How pompous you were in the night. I'm so glad I was asleep.

Mrs. Heccomb tapped on the glass, and the taxi, which already intended stopping, stopped dead with a satirical jerk.

For a single girl in London, luck isn't always a glass slipper that fits. Sometimes luck is a splash of mud from a passing bus.

Verdriet is zoiets- o, het is zoiets éénzaams; dat is het beangstigende ervan, denk ik. Het is alsof je langs de glaswand van een heel hoog gebouw naar beneden glijdt terwijl niemand je ziet.

how full of flowers the world was that summer! Tunes and forms fading... ––A choir, to calm down impotence and absence! A choir of glass pieces, of nocturnal melodies... Soon, indeed, the nerves will slip their moorings.

When she woke in the morning, there would be no glass on the floor. No comforter lying on the chair. Hawk Cahill, the cowboy hero to the rescue, would have been only a dream in the middle of her waking nightmare.

It has been common knowledge to informed collectors that many times the finest and rarest art glass is found unsigned.

Our sweet illusions are half of them conscious illusions, like effects of colour that we know to be made up of tinsel, broken glass and rags.