Quotes About Wood

Over the green squares of the fields and the low curves of a wood there rose in the distance a grey, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance like some fantastic landscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time, his gaze fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep.

By means of tracing-paper I transfer my design to the wood and draw on that.

Ellen looked around the room with an odd expression, for the first few seconds not taking in the collection spread across the tables, but just taking in the library: the smell of ink and foxy paper and old wood, the green view of the river beyond the leaded casement window propped open just an inch. As if she loved it, but was a little scared to be there.

Her skin was so tan that it reminded Krista of a stain. Coffee on blonde wood.

The wood smoke gave the whole place the scent of autumn

taboret itself was small and

I pictured myself sitting by the fire and knitting the Celtic mists and shadowy pools into my cloth. I pictured Jonathan getting up from his typewriter and going out to split wood like a man in Ingmar Bergman, and the child, with woollen mittens flapping at its cuffs, tottering after him.

I watched her departure, as one watches a sunset. She went like a radiance through the dark wood, which was henceforth bright to me, from simply knowing that such a creature was in it.

But I must believe my senses, as he cannot believe beyond his, which give him no intimations of this kind. I think he could spend the whole of Midsummer-eve in the wood and come back with the report that he saw nothing worse than himself. Indeed, good man, he would hardly find anything better than himself, if he had seven more senses given him.

I wander cowboy sidewalks of wood, wearing a too-small hat, filled with remorse for the many lives I failed to lead.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

The workshop to me always means great atmosphere, working, smell of wood, dust and, at the end of the day, you've created something.

All I'd ever wanted was to forget. but even when I thought I had, pieces had kept emerging, like bits of wood floating up to the surface that only hint at the shipwreck below.

I left the house and headed for the Lauriergracht, where Van Hoogstraten had taken up residence since leaving Vienna and his post as court painter specializing in optical deceits. He currently made peepshow boxes constructed of wood, with one missing side that allowed light to enter as if through a shuttered window, and two small holes for viewing the painted panels of scenes inside. I had never seen one of these peepshows personally, and hoped he would have at least one to show me.

It was a narrow, twisting hallway, paneled and floored in elaborate interlocking patterns of light and dark wood. False windows flanked every corner, their frames elaborately carved and fretted: looking through one, I discovered a flat, painted landscape like nothing I had ever seen-twisted trees and dark, jeering rocks and the gilt sun lying against the painted sky like a counterfeit coin.

There's something about old houses at sunset...they are ghosts made of wood, softening in the dusk that comes upon them like a tide.

Thence, we drove a few miles across a swamp, along a raised shell road, with a canal on one hand and a dense wood on the other; and here and there, in the distance, a ragged and angular-limbed and moss-bearded cypress, top standing out, clear cut against the sky, and as quaint of form as the apple-trees in Japanese pictures—such was our course and the surroundings of it.

The flyscreen door is torn at the edges. Fraying. I open it and knock on the wood. The sound rhymes with my heartbeat.

When their bodies had finished scouring for gaps in the door, their souls rose up. Their fingernails had scratched at the wood and in some cases were nailed into it by the sheer force of desperation, and their spirits came towards me, into my arms.

Stavano con lui per ore, accasciati per terra - punti interrogativi accoccolati in una pozza di trucioli di legno - e si chiedevano come mai Velutha sembrava sempre sapere quali forme levigate lo aspettassero all'interno di un pezzo di legno.

The town has a sense, not of history, but of time, and the telephone poles seem to know this. If you lay your hand against one, you can feel the vibration from the wires deep within the wood, as if souls had been imprisoned in there and were struggling to get out.

If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one–probably a child–who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.

The ark was made of shittim, or acacia wood (Exodus 25:10). Shittim wood never

Carpentry, too, as a sacred process, belongs to this canon. Wood, like milk and wine, was thought to be a life-principle of Horus-Osiris (cf. Blackman, op. cit., p. 30), and cedar oil with its preservative and hardening qualities played an important part in embalming.