Quotes About Wood

But for many long days and nights I pondered over the words in the Mahabharata: 'As two pieces of wood floating on the ocean come together at one time and are again separated, even such is the union of living creatures in this world.

What are you making? Or, more aptly, what aren't you making?" Upon closer inspection, the pile of wood resembles a triangle. A crooked, timid triangle. "It's a ramp for Loki." I glance at the dog, who appears to be dead. "A ramp to… heaven?" I suggest. "To my bed, which is kind of the same thing." Leo winks. "Or so they tell me.

After all those days in the cotton fields, the dreams came true on a gold record on a piece of wood. It's in my den where I can look at it every day. I wear it out lookin' at it.

walnut kneehole desk. It

They were in a long line, an endless line, and as they burst from the wood there was an instant, the smallest part of a heartbeat, when all Catelyn saw was the moonlight on the point of their lance, as if a thousand willowisps were coming down the ridge, wreathed in silver. Then she blinked, and they were only men, rushing down to kill or die.

O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand!

The wood's for friendship, the metal for love." He waited until Eve opened the lid to reveal the two silk-lined compartments within. "One part is for your memories, the other for your wishes.

a rival line, on his small beginnings out at the dam. Even his tools should be of wood and leather and gut, materials the insects would eat when one day he no longer needed them.

Sixteen coffins. Stacked two high and four deep. The casings for the dead were made out of different kinds of wood, and they had aged in different ways—but what was inside them had something in common. They were the remains of the damned. Brothers who had not been granted proper Fade Ceremonies. Or could not be granted them.

High above, the rafters were made of old wood, and sturdy as the mountain the house had been built on, and across the way, sixteen coffins were stacked one upon the next, as if they were nothing but moving boxes from U-Haul. The

The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual life is. All these people thinking they're hardheaded materialistic practical types, they don't know shit about matter, their heads are full of dreamy ideas and notions.

Between us and the bottom of the sea was less than an inch of wood. And yet, I aver it, and I aver it again, I was unafraid.

The flowers left thick at nightfall in the woodThis Eastertide call into mind the men, Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, shouldHave gathered them and will do never again.

This was my prayer: an adequate portion of land with a garden and a spring of water and a small wood to complete the picture.

The nightingales are singing nearThe Convent of the Sacred Heart,And sang within the bloody woodWhen Agamemnon cried aloud,And let their liquid siftings fallTo stain the stiff dishonored shroud.

There was a time when I believed I was the redeemed one, the boy borne safely home on the ebb of whatever freak tide carried Peter and Jamie away. Not any more. In ways too dark and crucial to be called metaphorical, I never left that wood.

In ways too dark and crucial to be called metaphorical, I never left that wood.

These three children own the summer. They know the wood as surely as they know the microlandscapes of their own grazed knees;put them down blindfolded in any dell or clearing and they could find their way out without putting a foot wrong.

These three children own the summer. They know the wood as surely as they know the micro landscapes of their own grazed knees; put them down blindfolded in any dell or clearing and they could find their way out without putting a foot wrong. This is their territory, and they rule it wild and lordly as young animals; they scramble through its trees and hide-and-seek in its hollows all the endless day long, and all night in their dreams.

If you, like me, are essentially a city person, then the chances are that when you imagine a wood you picture a simple thing: matching green trees in even rows, a soft carpet of dead leaves or pine needles, orderly as a child's drawing. Possibly those earnestly efficient man-made woods are in fact like that; I wouldn't know.

Music, or a voice; just some trick of the river on stones, the breeze in the hollow oak? The wood had a million voices, changing with every season and every day; you could never know them all.

sunlight bringing the battered wood of the table alive with an impossible holy glow.

All through this case, since the moment the car crested the hill and we saw Knocknaree spread out in front of us, the opaque membrane between me and that day in the wood had been slowly, relentlessly thinning; it had grown so fine that I could hear the small furtive movements on the other side, beating wings and tiny scrabbling feet like a moth battering against your cupped hands.

I hear a bird sing or a dog bark or the sound of an axe on wood - and I feel a sense of stability, I feel that I am important, that I am continuous and integral.