Quotes About Rust

I don't really believe in that ring rust stuff.

I do believe in ring rust. If you got it, you got it. And if you don't, you don't.

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.

A derelict windmill stood at the top. The tower was covered with a thick layer of rust and most of the blades were missing, the remaining ones twisted and distorted. Just below it was the massive storage tank, steel bands on wood, now collapsing inward. Ma crossed the ridge and looked out at Lake Michigan.

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.

So along the road those flowers spread that, when touched, give down a shower of autumn rust. By every path it looks as if a ruined circus had passed and loosed a trail of ancient iron at every turning of a wheel. The rust was laid out everywhere, strewn under trees and by riverbanks and near the tracks themselves where once a locomotive had gone but went no more. So flowered flakes and railroad track together turned to moulderings upon the rim of autumm.

The train? Pulled off on a spur in the warming grass, it was old, yes, and welded tight with rust, but it looked like a titanic magnet that had collected to itself, from locomotive boneyards across three continents, drive shafts, fly-wheels, smoke stacks, and hand-me-down second-rate nightmares. It did not cut a black and mortuary silhouette. It asked permission but to lie dead in autumn strewings, so much tired steam and iron gunpowder blowing away.

And then they were at the end of the line, the silver tracks, abandoned for eighteen years, ran on into rolling country. In 1910 people took the trolley out to Chessman's Park with vast picnic hampers. The track, never ripped up, still lay rusting among the hills.

Who said "Peacock Pie"?The old king to the sparrow:Who said "Crops are ripe"?Rust to the harrow.

Time will rust the sharpest sword,Time will consume the strongest cord;That which molders hemp and steel,Mortal arm and nerve must feel.

They say the warp has turned black with tempests and the freakish things that lurk within them! And here we sit, on a ship held together by rust and hope, with intent to dive into that ocean of madness.

When I draw something, I try to build some kind of history into it. Drawing an object that has a certain amount of wear and tear or rust; or a tree that is damaged. I love trying to render not just the object, but what it has been through.

I don't have my pilot's licence anymore, but I'm still very political.

The bad thing about galvanized pipes is they rust, and over the years they can get corroded. It's just kinda gross.

And so, perhaps, with grief. We imagine we have battled against it, been purposeful, overcome sorrow, scrubbed the rust from our soul, when all that has happened is that grief has moved elsewhere, shifted its interest. We did not make the clouds come in the first place, and have no power to disperse them. All that has happened is that from somewhere -- or nowhere -- an unexpected breeze has sprung up, and we are in movement again.

Robert was never the same after he put on that crown. Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them up and they go to rust.

Iron rusts from disuse; water loses its purity from stagnation... even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind.

Beneath the rust and grime which dulls the shine of our weathered hearts, joy patiently waits to be rediscovered

There is a polish for everything that takes away rust, and the polish for the heart is the remembrance of God.

We assassinate. We don't accessorize. But I understand how it is possible to confuse the two.

Just as iron rusts from disuse... even so does inaction spoil the intellect.

I've lived to bury my desires, And see my dreams corrode with rust; Now all that's left are fruitless fires That burn my empty heart to dust.

You always take rest over rust in the playoffs.

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that's put to use more gold begets.