Quotes About Dust

Joss's ears perked up. He loved libraries. Nowhere else in the world felt so safe and homey. Nowhere else smelled like books and dust and happy solitude quite like a library did.

A good library will never be too neat, or too dusty, because somebody will always be in it, taking books off the shelves and staying up late reading them.

N95 respirator mask— Looks like a white beak over your nose and mouth. (1) Double straps adjust to your head size, (2) stops germs and dust from getting in, (3) perfect for allergy protection while

The dust blew all over the Great Plains, but the worst and most persistent storms were in parts of five states—southern Colorado, southwestern Kansas, the Texas and Oklahoma Panhandles, and northeastern New Mexico.

Imagine your fears are particles of dust," he said. "Pinpoint each one individually and narrow your mind onto that minuscule piece. And then, Paul, then you can examine it. It is so small it cannot hurt you.

In the slanting beams that streamed through the open doorway the dust danced and was golden. The heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything.

ego pulveris hausti ostendens cumulum, quot haberet corpora pulvis, tot mihi natales contingere vana rogavi; excidit, ut peterem iuvenes quoque protinus annos.

When the bones are all gone who lives in the final dust? Cuando ya se fueron los huesos quien vive en el polvo final?

We had, as men, time So our thirst could slowly be satisfied, the ancestral longing to enumerate things and sum them up, to render them into dust, dunes of numbers

We're constantly moving dust from one place to another, only to have it replaced by more dust — entropy always wins.

I set out on my trip, imbued with the spirit of old Omar: Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

Everything decayed, the perfectly ordered crystal eventually turned into random particles of dust.

You have to wonder about these settlers of the Great Plains. These white people who in olden times killed the natives and laid claim to this dirt and stuck to it; who stranded their children and grandchildren with a birthright of dust. A collection of clapboard shacks with backyards full of unmown pigweed and junked cars and abandoned swing sets and withered, thirsty trees. Was the genocide worth it?

Dust and powdered plaster hung in the air like incense, outlining two shafts of sunlight streaming down from narrow windows high above.

in the end—when all else is dust—loyalty to those we love is all we can carry with us to the grave. Faith—true faith—was trusting in that love.

Aunt Beulah could hear the dust moats collide in a sunbeam.

The dust that fell unnoted as a dew, Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth

I stopped and filled my lungs, smelling Africa - smelling dust, woodsmoke, a perfume from a flower, something musty, something decaying.

Our windows were dark. The entrance was empty. I walked close to the left wall when I entered, but it was empty: just the stairs curving up into shadows echoes of feet in the sad generations like light dust upon the shadows, my feet waking them like dust, lightly to settle again. I

El hombre es la suma de sus experiencias climáticas, decía padre. El hombre es la suma de lo que tiene. Un problema acerca de propiedades impuras que se arrastran tediosamente hacia una invariable nada: un jaque mate de polvo y deseo.

But for all the feet that had trodden it, it remained ordinary dust, which seemed to make everything much sadder.

your milk, your milk has killed me" and then the child stiffened and cracked and turned in Buttercup's hands to nothing but dry dust and Buttercup screamed and screamed;

He struggled to overcome his vertigo; he made it something else. No less awe, but less fear. He took what was like fear in him, and made it humility. I'm damn small, he thought, hanging like a mote of dust in still air, in a sea that's damn big. But that's alright. I can do that.

As Lichtenberg said of angels," he wrote in one of his last letters, "so I say of dust. If they, or it, ever could speak to us, why in God's name should we understand?