Quotes About Knob

Snap. Ka-chunk. That's how I spell the sound of a doorknob turning.

I cursed and rubbed my forehead. The radio sang its bigotry in perfect '80s pop harmony. Let's send 'em aaallllllll ba-ack to Aaaaafrica . . . I reached down to the knob, to find the radio was already off. Here we fucking go.

It would be erroneous to say Sohrab was quiet. Quiet is peace. Tranquility. Quiet is turning down the volume knob on life. Silence is pushing the off button. Shutting it down. All of it. Sohrab's silence wasn't the self imposed silence of those with convictions, of protesters who seek to speak their cause by not speaking at all. It was the silence of one who has taken cover in a dark place, curled up all the edges and tucked them under.

Round every knob and cushion in the house sentiment gathered, a sentiment that was at times personal, but more often a faint piety to the dead, a prolongation of rites that might have ended at the grave.

Rubbing Lamps Things besides Aladdin's and the golden cave fish's lamps grant wishes. In fact, most lamps aren't lamp- shaped and happen by accident: an ordinary knob goes lambent as you twist or a cloth turns to silver mesh against a dish- something so odd and filled with promise for a minute that you spend your only wish wishing someone else could see it.

It occurred to me that the movement of the amputated knob perfectly schematized what it would look like for someone to try to turn somersaults with one hand nailed to the floor. This was how I first became interested in the possibilities of annulation.