Quotes About Cloth

Yet truth is a diamond; even mishandles, smeared with grease, or buried in mud, it cannot be marred and waits for one with a cloth to polish it clean.

In the wake of tragedy, people are often tempted to tell the mourners "Everything happens for reason," "It will all work out for the best," or "This is all part of God's plan." Reverend Swetnam, a devoted man of the cloth, was having none of it. "If this was the work of God," he said, "I'll tear off this clerical collar.

I particularly love the silk in Jakarta, the shoes in Tokyo and the amazing cloth from Thailand and Malaysia.

The morning had started. Someone else was out there, threading the day into cloth.

Some of them had bits of cloth still on them, but most were nothing but whorls and spars of bone. They were a mess of bony apostrophes, commas, and exclamation marks brushed off some giant's notebook into a tangled, ungrammatical heap.

Tenzij u iets beters weet, dottore, stel ik voor dat we dit verderfelijke moeras optillen en als een natte doek over het centrum van de stad leggen.' 'Geheel en al wat ook ikzelve vind!' zei de geleerde. Matt was bijna hysterisch van vermoeidheid. Strak plan,' zei hij. 'Doen we even. Koud kunstje.

Even the vendors sitting on stools around the periphery work steadily at connection, nodding at potential buyers, like a sewing machine prodding its needle into the cloth.

At mealtime a very broad cloth is laid on the trestle table in the solar. to facilitate service, places are set along one side only. On that side the cloth falls to the floor, doubling as a communal napkin...there are several kinds of knives...but no forks.

What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will

He shrugged. 'If we keep pulling threads, trying to see which ones make the pattern, we unravel the cloth and left with nothing but tangles. Let's have no more talk of debts.' He cocked his head and studied my ash-smeared hair and face. 'On second thought, you do owe me the tale of how you contrived my rescue. May Lugh give me the art to do it justice!

I am an independent film-maker first and foremost. I have always cut my own cloth.

It was our love of foreign cloth that ousted the wheel from its position of dignity.

Luckily he had found a piece of cloth on the balcony outside Mr Brown's room and so he'd been able to clean off the worst of the dirt before getting down to the important job of taking it to pieces and polishing it.

Love is a cloth which imagination embroiders.

The stale September days, in the huge half-empty town, had a charm wrapped in them as a coloured gem might be wrapped in a dusty cloth.

Grey cloth coaxes the lime trees of friends shadowing berries dropped by the grateful earth.

I also brought some berries." She pulled out a cloth bundle. "I thought you might like something sweet. Can I share them with you?" He eyed her up and down. "I guess you're small enough, you couldn't eat that many.

I have developed a rash on my body where the rough cloth rubs on my skin. I wanted to take a bath, thinking that the dirt on my skin made the rash worse, but the bathing tub has been turned upside down and is being used as an extra table in the kitchen and i cannot have it until spring, so I just spread goose grease on my rash. The dogs are following me everywhere.

Eddies of dry wind whipped tatters of cloth and reed paper about in dancing circles.

Mary wrapped Jesus in strips of cloth and gently laid him in a manger.

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my troth, for our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul

It seemed to me—the reader may smile, but must not doubt my word—it seemed to me, then, that I experienced a sensation not altogether physical, yet almost so, as of burning heat, and as if the letter were not of red cloth, but red-hot iron. I shuddered, and involuntarily let it fall upon the floor.

Beneath the dragonglass was an old warhorn, made from an aurochs' horn and banded in bronze. Jon shook the dirt from inside it, and a stream of arrowheads fell out. He let them fall, and pulled up a corner of the cloth the weapons had been wrapped in, rubbing it between his fingers. Good wool, thick, a double weave, damp but not rotted. It could not have been long in the ground. And it was dark. He seized a handful and pulled it close to the torch. Not dark. Black.

It was the hottest hour of the day when even the cicadas seem to slow down and falter occasionally in their song. The black ants moved busily across the cloth, gathering the crumbs of our food.