Quotes About Wires

not really a quote but here is is The setting is the start.The story hangs from that hook,and the characters move slowly around one another. Each piece has its own shape and size. The characters think they see the wires that connect them. But that isn't possible. Or is it? Who makes the rules?

And we, too, had a relationship— Tight wires between us, Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring Sliding shut on some quick thing, The constriction killing me also.

They were floating, almost at one with the darkness, reflecting no light. Their footsteps could not be heard. But their breathing could, and perhaps the heart. They mingled with other almost inaudible nocturnal stirrings, like a small vibration in long wires.

he suggested that his mental state had something to do with the " awful fact of excellence . . . it is that fact now, combined with my inability to solder two copper wires together, which is probably succeeding in getting me crazy.

Maybe people don't prize possessions now like they did in the premillenium. How could they? All their money goes into the Net. For games, or business, or television—things that come over the wires.

In this movie they took them up in space. They're floating around and doing zero gravity stuff. Well, they had to do it all on wires. All the wires had to be painted black against this black background. If you didn't light it properly you could see the wires. Drove them crazy!

And one man in Nebraska thought the telegraph wires were a kind of tightrope; he watched the line carefully ''to see the man run along the wires with the letter bags.

once we wrapped the globe in endless circles of wires crossing the deserts and beneath the oceans, decentralization was not only possible, but inevitable.

She looked into the room. So many machines and wires and tubes - a reminder that the human body was an incredible miracle, its countless autonomic functions a gift when they were operating as intended, and a cumbersome nightmare to have to approximate when they were not.

he wondered how to reduce the number of wires that were needed to string different transistors together. Rather than use a separate piece of silicon or germanium to build each

I had never before thought of how awful the relationship must be between the musician and his instrument. He has to fill it, this instrument, with the breath of life, his own. He has to make it do what he wants it to do. And a piano is just a piano. It's made out of so much wood and wires and little hammers and big ones, and ivory. While there's only so much you can do with it, the only way to find this out is to try; to try and make it do everything.

Sometimes my body is a guitar, a hole waiting in wood, wires trembling to sleep. To identify what you are, to be loved by what you identify, I thought This is how the blood sings into the self. I thought what was hollow in me would be shaped into music. — Terrance Hayes, from "Arbor for Butch," The American Poetry Review . Volume 38, No. 06 November/December

We wind a simple ring of iron with coils; we establish the connections to the generator, and with wonder and delight we note the effects of strange forces which we bring into play, which allow us to transform, to transmit and direct energy at will. We arrange the circuits properly, and we see the mass of iron and wires behave as though it were endowed with life

Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. He plucked at the wires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face of each new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky. His harp too, heedless that her coverings had fallen about her knees seemed weary alike of the eyes of strangers and of her master's hands.

In movies, people always "borrow" cars by yanking some wires out from under the dash and connecting them. But the real way it works involves a screwdriver and the starter thingy, under the hood. My personal ethics prevent me from giving you more information. That'd be just what I need: a rash of car thefts across America, committed by dedicated readers.

If a psychosis was just some synapses misfiring why wouldnt you simply get static? But you dont. You get a carefully crafted and fairly articulate world never seen before. Who's doing this? Who is it who is running around hooking up the dangling wires in new and unusual ways. Why is he doing it? What is the algorithm he follows? Why do we suspect there is one?

We're a telephone family, strung out along the wires, sharing our news in loops and daisy chains. We don't meet face-to-face much, and when we do there's a dematerialized feeling, as though only half of our molecules are present.

The rig work can be rewarding to pull off, a really good rig in a set of wires where you're throwing yourself up walls and doing moves mid-air. That's just fun.

I've come to see our central nervous system as a kind of vintage switchboard, all thick foam wires and old-fashioned plugs. The circuitry isn't properly equipped; after a surplus of emotional information the system overloads, the circuit breaks, the board runs dark. That's what shock is.

My identity walks the wires for me, all around the world. The body is now the afterthought. The birthplace, not the home.

three of the five independently perceived a large grid, net, or honeycomb made up of sophisticated electronic equipment and wires that had been embedded in the ground.

Here is the door of my mom's house, well-remembered childhood portal. Here is the yard, and a set of wires that runs from the house to a wooden pole, and some fat birds sitting together on the wires, five of them lined up like beads on an abacus.

Rows of books around me stand, Fence me in on either hand; Through that forest of dead words I would hunt the living birds -- So I write these lines for you Who have felt the death-wish too, All the wires are cut, my friends Live beyond the severed ends.

It is no parlor trick: There is a skull and, in the dark, it is glowing. Somehow it is now floating above us all. Listen: The skull is speaking. It is saying your name. It knows about you and your favorite flower and all about your tenth birthday. But it does not matter. You are not convinced. For some reason, you are still full of doubt. You stare into the dark, looking for wires. Grasping for strings, you hold your hands out.