Quotes About Glass

Excessive purity is like a glass plate. It may be highly polished and crystal bright, but it is still small, thin, fragile. One day, some slight pressure will crack it, and it will cut your fingers. And, in any event, isn't glass a compound? Can it really claim purity?

Deasupra lumii, cerul rece, de sticl?, spuzit de stele. Cerul se uit? la oameni cu mii ?i mii de ochi, cu ochi de stele, cu ochi aprin?i.

It has never occurred to me before, but this is truly how it is: all of us on earth walk constantly over a seething, scarlet sea of flame, hidden below, in the belly of the earth. We never think of it. But what if the thin crust under our feet should turn into glass and we should suddenly see?

She felt the essence of herself pulled finer and smaller like those streams of spun glass that pull and stretch till there remains but a glimmering illusion. Neither falling nor breaking, the stream spins finer. She felt herself very small and ecstatic. Alabama was in love.

This earthly existence of ours is more brittle that the glass bangles that ladies wear.

After the last swallow, the glass walls, deprived of humidity, decompose rather quickly, obliging drinkers to order another round immediately.

Sunlight filtered through the glass panes from the waters above, waking the feathery tube worms clustered around the room. They burst into bloom, daubing the walls yellow, cobalt blue, and magenta. The golden rays warmed fronds of seaweed anchored to the floor. They shimmered in the glass of a tall gilt mirror and glinted off the polished coral walls. A

Mary regretted it a little already. Sometimes words were like glass that broke in her mouth.

All men are good at exit lines," Harriette said as she removed her opera glass from her beaded reticule. "They use them so frequently, you know. It seems they are always walking out. Off to school, off to war, off to their clubs, or off to their mistresses." Sophy considered that briefly. "I'd say it was not so much a case of walking out as it is of running away.

I still practise her remedy for hiccups – slowly drinking a glass of cold water with a couple of spoons of sugar stirred in. This, incidentally, is a much pleasanter way of overcoming hiccups than by choking yourself out of breath.

Fragment" What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake.

Here I am now, this green drinking glass before me, my heart heavy. Can it be that life begins with scenes like this? Can it be that we live out complete lives as children, drinking down our lives in one go, only to repeat ourselves stupidly, blindly, meaninglessly?

New York used to be so much more than just a place to shop. It was life on the street for the eccentrics; it was an eccentric city. It had many different tastes. Now it's just one - a really rich one - with big tall glass buildings.

The room was amazing. It was all glass, including the domed roof, and in all directions it offered a view of the Atlantic Ocean stretching empty into the distance, hinting of eternity.

That had been the way of their journey, for the most part. Quiet, except when her temper got the best of her, and sometimes when she shouted the sound of her voice seemed to crash in the silence like breaking glass.

with which he carved the pictures. Laura and Mary were allowed to take Ma's thimble and make pretty patterns of circles in the frost on the glass. But they never spoiled the pictures that Jack Frost had made in the night. When they put their mouths close to the pane and blew their breath on it, the white frost melted and ran in drops down the glass. Then they could see the drifts of snow outdoors and the

At the corner he turned, looking back up at her. She put her palm to the glass.

I got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans. Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.

got her a can of Coke out of the fridge. "You want a glass?" She shook her head. Jean-Claude was leaning against the wall, staring at me as I moved about the kitchen. "I don't need a glass either," he said softly. "Don't get cute," I said. "Too late," he said. I had to smile. The

Fracture lines etch the surface of the glass box as if a body fell from the sky and landed on it.

Fracture lines etch the surface of the glass box as if a body fell from the sky and landed on it. He doesn't hear the impact, can't smell the blood.

My glass was empty. I poured more scotch into it, took a small sip, and all at once the silly thing was empty again. Strange. Then it was full again. And then it was empty again. Strange, I thought. Fool glass must have a hole in it. Scotch disappears the instant it's poured. Strange. Then I was stretched out on the bed, too tired and too drunk to bother removing my shoes. My eyes closed themselves and the world crept away on little cat feet, leaving me floating in the middle of the air.

rain slowly slides down the glass as if the night is crying.

His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine glass spines.