Knot Another Hat Quotes

I'll start in the air," I said, far more steadily than I thought I could, considering. I knelt to tie the shirt around his thigh, cinching it tight above the wound; he stiffened but let me finish the knot. "The air first, the airship, and then-then I'll dive."
"You can't swim," broke in Armand. "You told me that you can't."
"Maybe I can now. If I'm a dragon."
"Don't be an idiot! If you can't swim, you can't swim, Eleanore! You'll drown out there, and what the bloody hell do you think you're going to do anyway to a U-boat? Bite it open?"
I stood again. "Yes! If I must! I don't hear you coming up with a better-"
"You'll die out there!"
"Or we'll all die here!"
"We're going to find another way!"
"You two work on that. I'm off." I fixed them both with one last, vehement look, the Turn rising inside me.
Remember this. Remember them, this moment, this heartbreak, these two boys. Remember that they loved you.
Armand had reached for my shoulders. "I forbid-Eleanore, please, no-"
"No," echoed Jesse, speaking at last. "You're not going after the submarine, Lora. You won't need to."
Armand and I paused together, glancing down at him. I stood practically on tiptoe, so ready to become my other self.
Jesse climbed clumsily to his feet. When he swayed, we both lunged to catch him.
"Armand will take me to the shore. I'll handle the U-boat."
"How?" demanded Armand at once.
But I understood. I could read him so wel ~ Shana Abe

I wore a lot of vintage clothing. I dressed like a reporter, with a little card in my hat. I had these fantasies of who I wanted to be, so I'd dress like an explorer, a cowboy. I dressed up like Elton John a lot too. That was another period. ~ Illeana Douglas

But there's another reason you can't go. You still haven't told me about your trip to Tennessee." A sudden spark seemed to light his keen eyes. "I wanted to tell you, but you didn't come, even when I gave you back your bed." She looked up, full of wonder. "You wanted me to come upstairs?" "You know I wouldn't hurt you ... dishonor you." "I - I know you wouldn't ... but ... being alone with you ... like that ... " She faltered and looked away, a furious blush staining her face. "It's not the proper way," he finished for her. She merely nodded, trying to start sewing again, but instead making a knot of her thread. He said quietly, "Sometimes I think you're still afraid of me." She looked up at him again and wished she hadn't. His eyes held hers with a startling intensity, as if daring her to deny it. She got up abruptly, nearly spilling her sewing onto the floor. "I made some broth," she said. "You'll need to regain your strength. And I'll have to see to your shoulder. ~ Laura Frantz

You have made your request, what about mine?"
"I am not the one withholding secrets."
He smiled and I stared at him for a moment. When he smiled, his severe face softened into something beautiful. I wanted to see it again.
"On the contrary, I am the one who has no choice. You, on the other hand, do."
"What do you want from me?"
He reached out, fingers sliding across the length of my hair.
"Some strands of your hair."
Some of the courtiers in Bharata used to tie their wives' hair around their wrists when they traveled. It was a sign of love and faith. To remain connected to the person you love, even if it was just by a circlet of hair.
"May I?" asked Amar.
I nodded. With a small knife, Amar deftly clipped a number of strands. Quickly, he twirled them into a bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. There was another bracelet on his hand that I had not noticed until now. A simple strap of black leather tied into an elegant knot.
"Thank you for this," he said, pulling his sleeve over the other strap.
"It's nothing," I said, trying for lightness.
"And yet I would trade everything for it," he said. There was no tease in his voice. Nothing but a strange straightforwardness, like he'd never said anything more honest in his entire life. ~ Roshani Chokshi

When you see a movie, it's like you're attending a show of magic in which the magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. You don't know how he did it, but a part of you is fascinated, or hypnotized, by what happened, another part of your brain says, "Oh, I want to do the same thing! I want to be that wielder of that magic. I want to be that magician on stage, and do the same thing to other people." ~ Gaspar Noe

In a straight up movie montage scene, ten things happened around me at once: someone pulled the broom from my hand, another person ripped the shirt off my head, a measuring tape appeared around my boobs, and two women crouched down in front of my legs. HEYO. "Nice tits," one assistant said as she finished measuring my chest. "Uhh, thanks," I replied as she ran in the opposite direction, having acquired the measurement she needed. "Is this your natural color?" a hairstylist asked as she ripped the hat and ponytail from my head. ~ R.S. Grey

At such a time [at dawn] I would dream of being a baker who delivers bread, a fitter from the electric company, or an insurance man collecting the weekly installments. Or at least a chimney sweep. In the morning, at dawn, I would enter some half-opened gateway, still lighted by the watchman's lantern. I would put two fingers to my hat, crack a joke, and enter the labyrinth to leave late in the evening, at the other end of the city. I would spend all day going from apartment to apartment, conducting one never-ending conversation from one end of the city to the other, divided into parts among the householders; I would ask something in one apartment and receive a reply in another, make a joke in one place and collect the fruits of laughter in the third or fourth. Among the banging of doors I would squeeze through narrow passages, through bedrooms full of furniture, I would upset chamberpots, walk into squeaking perambulators in which babies cry, pick up rattles dropped by infants. I would stop for longer than necessary in kitchens and hallways, where servant girls were tidying up. The girls, busy, would stretch their young legs, tauten their high insteps, play with their cheap shining shoes, or clack around in loose slippers. ~ Bruno Schulz

--Your headache--


I am trying to imagine it
Your head is in your hands
The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate
November again
Too late

Your headache
It is a bird
Wounded, in leaves

Its sweet bird's nest is full of pain in a distant place

November
There are daisies
In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely

And in a manic yellow hat, the old lady

And the old man, dead in his bed

And their daughter, the saint:

Her dark, religious hair gets tangled in the branches
She is screaming, grabbing

While the nurses play Mozart in another room
While the bats fly over the roof
Snatch the black notes from the blackness
Laughing

You cry
I am going to die

I can see them through this window

Their little black capes

The touching ugliness of their little faces ~ Laura Kasischke

May I?" asked Amar.
I nodded. With a small knife, Amar deftly clipped a number of strands. Quickly, he twirled them into a bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. There was another bracelet on his hand that I had not noticed until now. A simple strap of black leather tied into an elegant knot.
"Thank you for this," he said, pulling his sleeve over the other strap.
"It's nothing," I said, trying for lightness.
"And yet I would trade everything for it," he said. There was no tease in his voice. Nothing but a strange straightforwardness, like he'd never said anything more honest in his entire life.
"Then you must be relieved I gave it willingly."
"Astounded," he murmured, still tracing the circlet. He looked at me and something light fluttered in my stomach. "Not relieved. Relief is when you want something to stop."
A small light floated between us, only to vanish in an instant.
"What are those?"
Amar followed my gaze. "Wishes."
My eyes widened. "They grant wishes?"
"Sadly, no. They're wishes already made."
"Of what?"
"Or who?" countered Amar.
"Is this another secret the moon keeps from me?"
"No," said Amar with a grin. "It is a secret that I choose to keep from you. ~ Roshani Chokshi

Do you ever miss your mother?"
"I never knew her, so no. But I miss what could've been." He tilted his head. "It's nothing like what you went through, is it now? It was a horrible story, about your brother. How do you get over something like that?"
"You don't."
The stiches on the old wound unraveled within me as I thought about the answer. "I held on to hope that he was alive for almost a year." I wiped my nose and told myself to stop. I'd never even told my counselors that. "I prayed by the hour during these months. I had faith then. And where did that get me? Where was God when my brother died? When my world imploded?" My voice broke and I covered my face. "I have to go." I dashed past Beckett and walked as fast as I could.
With Bob running ahead, Beckett caught up with me in three strides. He reached for my arm and pulled me to a stop. "Wait."
"I should be able this. I know I should. But I'm not." Through my tears, I saw concern staring back at me. And it just added another knot to the dark tangle inside. "I want to be me again-to have faith, to feel hope , to feel...something. Something besides this..." Ugliness. I closed my mouth and just shook my head.
"Hey. It's okay to be mad." Beckett slid his arms around me and enfolded me in a hug. "But you can't give up on your faith. ~ Jenny B. Jones

A cloud, the exact color of the boy's hat and shaped like a turnip, had descended over the sun, and another, worse looking, crouched behind the car. Mr. Shiftlet felt that the rottenness of the world was about to engulf him. ~ Flannery O'Connor

You're one of those guys who sit back and wait for the guy to screw up. When she's hurting or lonely, you guys swoop in. Hell, I should tip my hat to you guys. I couldn't do it. I couldn't wait around and watch the woman I wanted be with another guy, waiting until there's a break with them, until she's vulnerable." He mocked him. "Yeah, it must take a special kind of guy to do that. ~ Tijan

There once was a brown horse that was brown like a bean, and he lived in the home of a very poor farmer. And the poor farmer had a very poor wife, and they had a very thin chicken and a lame little pig. And so, one day the very poor farmer s wife said: We have nothing more to eat because we are very poor, so we must eat the very thin chicken. So they killed the very thin chicken and made a thin soup and ate it. And so, for a while, they were fine; but the hunger returned and the very poor farmer told his very poor wife: We have nothing more to eat because we are so poor, so we must eat the lame little pig. And so the lame little pig s turn came and they killed it and they made a lame soup and ate it. And then it was the bean-brown horse s turn. But the bean-brown horse did not wait for the story to end; it just ran away and went to another story.

Is that the end of the story? I asked Durito, unable to hide my bewilderment. Of course not. Didn't you hear me say that the bean-brown horse fled to another story? he said as he prepared to leave. And so? I ask exasperated. And so nothing you have to look for the bean-brown horse in another story! he said, adjusting his hat. But, Durito! I said, protesting uselessly. Not one more word! You tell the story like it is ~ Subcomandante Marcos

I don't set myself targets. Last season I scored hat-trick against Wolfsburg and three days later, that was forgotten, you're about to be judged again. When you've done well, you don't want another game, you just want to feel great. When you've done badly, you can't wait for another chance to come. ~ Michael Owen

So are there lots of cows?" she asked before she could stop herself. "On the ranch, I mean."
Zane didn't spare her a glance. "Some."
"Like twenty?"
He glanced at her then, before turning his attention back to the road. "We run several thousand head of steers. Those are the ones that end up on your barbecue. I have another few hundred head of cows for breeding purposes."
"No bulls?" she asked, unable to keep from grinning.
He sighed the sigh of the long suffering. "A dozen or so."
"A dozen bulls for a few hundred cows?"
Mr. Hunk-in-a-hat, who had put his hat on the seat between them when he'd climbed into the cab, chuckled. "Yup."
"Yet another example of our patriarchal society ignoring the rights of cows."
"You worried about cows' rights?" He sounded both incredulous and amused. "You a lawyer?"
"No. And I'm not concerned about cows' rights. Of course I want them treated humanely, as any civilized person would, but I'm not crazy."
"What are you, then?"
"What?"
He glanced at her. "If you're not a lawyer, what are you?"
"Oh." For a second she thought he'd been referring to her mental state. "I work in real estate."
Fortunately Zane didn't ask any questions about her career. She didn't think that telling him she'd been suspended for litigation would improve his opinion of her. ~ Susan Mallery

We're all different people and we're allowed to be different from one another. If someone ever says you're weird, say thank you. And then curtsy. No, don't curtsy. That might be too weird. Bow. And tip your imaginary hat. That'll show them. ~ Ellen DeGeneres

The Battle of Gettysburg was fought in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 18-something-or-nother. The year doesn't matter.They considered it the turning point of the war, and President Lincoln showed up to give his big speech. Who really cares what it was called? I don't. After it was all over and the North won, Congress passed the 13th amendment to free the slaves. It outlawed owning another person, yada, yada, yada, but it was a waste of time. All of it. Every bit. Completely pointless. All those people died and it didn't change anything, because it doesn't work if they don't enforce it. They just ignore it, turn their backs and say it's not their problem, but it is. It's everyone's problem. They can say slavery ended all they want, but that doesn't make it true. People lie. They'll tell you what they think you wanna hear, and you'll believe it. Whatever makes you feel better about your dismal little lives. So, whatever. Go on being naive. Believe what the history book tells you if you want. Believe what Mrs. Anderson wants me to tell you about it. Believe the land of the free, blah, blah, blah, star spangled banner bullshit. Believe there aren't any slaves anymore just because a tall guy in a big ass top hat and a bunch of politicians said so. But I won't believe it, because if I do too, we'll all fucking be wrong, and someone has to be right." -Carmine DeMarco ~ J.M. Darhower

He unwrapped his pack and the first thing he did was to count his matches. There were sixty-seven. He counted them three times to make sure. He divided them into several portions, wrapping them in oil paper, disposing of one bunch in his empty tobacco pouch, of another bunch in the inside band of his battered hat, of a third bunch under his shirt on the chest. This accomplished, a panic came upon him, and he unwrapped them all and counted them again. There were still sixty-seven. He ~ Jack London

- I'm a normal kid, I was raised by television.

The secret to great barbeque: only Oscar knows it. Life should be so simple as enjoying ribs, farting, crapping, pissing, fucking and drinking, and maybe smoking too, but anything other than that is too complicated, life should be simple. It is not.

- Work? You would go to work even if there's a chance your job's imaginary?

Imaginary or not, the questions Max poses remain as relevant for Frank, Sam, and Oscar as they are for us.

A slight hangover won't be best friends with any kind of daylight and while this one wasn't particularly hazardous, they wouldn't be having any of it.

"...the lunatic is on the grass."

Surely if you see a bunch of people having a picnic in a park that would turn your head wouldn't it? How normal a picnic really is? When was the last time you saw one happening? Not in a movie, in real life.

If a man's hat falls to the ground, said man is expected to pick it up. That's the premise.

I'm not some pissy little kid who stopped believing in God because some priests rape kids. I don't believe in God because I can't be sure of its
existence.

I'm not some pissy little kid who stopped believing in God because the church raped kids. I don't believe in God because I can't be sure of its existence.

Nothing is wrong.

You don't take another man's hat, another man's ride, or another man's woman. ~ Santiago Rodriguez

A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half naked or clad in costumes attic or biblical or wardrobed out of a fevered dream with the skins of animals and silk finery and pieces of uniform still tracked with the blood of prior owners, coats of slain dragoons, frogged and braided cavalry jackets, one in a stovepipe hat and one with an umbrella and one in white stockings and a bloodstained wedding veil and some in headgear or cranefeathers or rawhide helmets that bore the horns of bull or buffalo and one in a pigeontailed coat worn backwards and otherwise naked and one in the armor of a Spanish conquistador, the breastplate and pauldrons deeply dented with old blows of mace or sabre done in another country by men whose very bones were dust and many with their braids spliced up with the hair of other beasts until they trailed upon the ground and their horses' ears and tails worked with bits of brightly colored cloth and one whose horse's whole head was painted crimson red and all the horsemen's faces gaudy and grotesque with daubings like a company of mounted clowns, death hilarious, all howling in a barbarous tongue and riding down upon them like a horde from a hell more horrible yet than the brimstone land of Christian reckoning, screeching and yammering and clothed in smoke like those vaporous beings in regions beyond right knowing where the eye wanders and the lip jerks and drools. ~ Cormac McCarthy

The baking wind tore at his hat and he held it by the brim with one hand. It relieved him to look at it, for the great river was like a long tale, of both great joy and great woe. And it seemed to be a story road that a person could take, and it would take him to some place where he could free his mind. Men had striven against one another to control the unreeling river-road, battling at New Madrid and Island Number Ten, at Baton Rouge and Vicksburg, in the heat of the summer and the humid choking air of the malarial swamps. But the river carried away men and guns and the garbage of war, covering it over, washing itself clean again as if they had never been. ~ Paulette Jiles

The moment I met her she struck me dumb, deaf, and stupid. At only eighteen, she'd had everything - brains, beauty, class. And she'd known it too. In the eight years since, I've watched her toy with one man after another, sometimes for a weekend, sometimes for a couple of months. But the affairs always ended the same. With her handing him his hat and a don't-slam-the-door-on-your-way-out. ~ Magda Alexander

When he was left alone, when he had pulled out one stop after another (for the work required it), Stanley straightened himself on the seat, tightened the knot of the red necktie, and struck. The music soared around him, from the corner of his eye he caught the glitter of his wrist watch, and even as he read the music before him, and saw his thumb and last finger come down time after time with three black keys between them, wringing out fourths, the work he had copied coming over on the Conte di Brescia, wringing that chord of the devil's interval from the full length of the thirty-foot bass pipes, he did not stop. The walls quivered, still he did not hesitate. Everything moved, and even falling, soared in atonement.
He was the only person caught in the collapse, and afterward, most of his work was recovered too, and it is still spoken of, when it is noted, with high regard, though seldom played. ~ William Gaddis

My mother taught me to knit when I was seven. I forgot about knitting until one day I saw Marion at the counter with hers and confessed that I knew how. Confessed is the right word. In those days, in the early 1980s, knitting was not a hobby a preteen would readily admit to. But Marion, every enthusiastic, pounced upon me and insisted that I show her something I'd made. I did
a misshapen scarf
which she priased exravagantly. she lent me a raspberry-colored wool for another project, a hat for myself. Since then I've been knitting pretty continuously. It's addictive and it's soothing, and fora a few minutes anyway, it makes me feel closer to my mother. ~ Anita Shreve

[T]he important point is that a world of inter-dependent relationships, where things are intelligible only in terms of of each other, is a seamless unity. In such a world it is impossible to consider man apart from nature, as an exiled spirit which controls this world by having its roots in another. Man is himself a loop in the endless knot, and as he pulls in one direction he finds that he is pulled from another and cannot find the origin of the impulse. ~ Alan W. Watts

Nor could I fail to recall my friendship with Howard K. Beale, professor of American History at the University of North Carolina. There he was, one day in 1940, standing just outside my room in the men's dormitory at St. Augustine's, in his chesterfield topcoat, white silk scarf, and bowler hat, with his calling card in hand, perhaps looking for a silver tray in which to drop it. Paul Buck, whom he knew at Harvard, had told him to look me up. He wanted to invite me to his home in Chapel Hill to have lunch or dinner and to meet his family. From that point on we saw each other regularly.
After I moved to Durham, he invited me each year to give a lecture on "The Negro in American Social Thought" in one of his classes. One day when I was en route to Beale's class, I encountered one of his colleagues, who greeted me and inquired where I was going. I returned the greeting and told him that I was going to Howard Beale's class to give a lecture. After I began the lecture I noticed that Howard was called out of the class. He returned shortly, and I did not give it another thought. Some years later, after we both had left North Carolina, Howard told me that he had been called out to answer a long-distance phone call from a trustee of the university who had heard that a Negro was lecturing in his class. The trustee ordered Beale to remove me immediately. In recounting this story, Beale told me that he had said that he was not in the habit of letting trustees plan his courses, and h ~ John Hope Franklin

He who accepts the unaltered philosophy of another is as ludicrous as he who donshis neighbor's hat, and infinitely more ridiculous. ~ Paulette Goddard

Take a look at the scaly witches round your local shopping center, many of them with children. Grim enough with their clothes on. Imagine them naked! Snatches that yo-yo between their knees, breasts so flaccid you could tie them in a knot. One would have to be literally galvanized on Spanish Fly even to consider it. Yet it gets done somehow. Look at the kids. - The teenager may be more spontaneous, doglike, etc., but it's generally only another name on the list, only another notch on the cock. ~ Martin Amis

Journalism is my first love. But music comes in a close second. What's important for me is that whatever you do, whatever your passion is, you should have another passion - something in your life. And when I put on that musician hat and I put the bass in my hands, I'm not Lester Holt the TV guy anymore. I'm just Lester Holt who likes music. ~ Lester Holt

Imagine if you looked different to every person who saw you. Not, like, some people thought you were more or less attractive, but one person thinks you're a sixty-five-year-old cowboy from Wyoming complete with boots and hat and leathery skin, and the next person sees an eleven-year-old girl wearing a baseball uniform. You have no control over this, and what you look like has nothing to do with the life you have lived or even your genome. You have no idea what each person sees when they look at you. That's what fame is like. You think this sounds like beauty because we sometimes that beauty is all in the eye of the one beholding the beauty. And, indeed, we don't get to decide if we are beautiful. Different people will have different opinions, and the only person who gets to decide if I'm attractive is the person looking at me. But then there is some consensus about what attractive is. Beauty is an attribute defined by human nature and culture. I can my eyes and my lips and my boobs when I look in a mirror. I know what I look like. Fame is not this way. A person's fame is in everyone's head except their own. You could be checking into your flight at the airport and 999 people will see you as just another face in the crowd. The thousandth might think you're more famous than Jesus. As you can imagine, this makes fame pretty disorienting. You never know who knows what. You never know if someone is looking at you because you went to college with them or because they've been watchi ~ Hank Green

An analogy is like a thought with another thought's hat on ~ Gillian Jacobs

A mixed up knot of incompatible roles, tied up too tight to know where one ended and another began. ~ Genevieve Dewey

So the next time you see a person with a composed face and a soft voice, remember that inside her mind she might be solving an equation, composing a sonnet, designing a hat. She might, that is, be deploying the powers of quiet.
We know from myths and fairy tales that there are many different kind of powers in this world. One child is given a light saber, another a wizard's education. ~ Susan Cain

Yet again, Matt pulled another rabbit out of his hat and got a fire for us. ~ Joe Teti

Kaylee,
For over a hundred years, magicians have been pulling objects out of hats. Rabbits, flowers... It's become such a famous trick that rabbits are known to represent magic in general.
I'm a magician. I've been pulling things from hats since I learned the trick at ten years old. It's all about sleight of hand. Misdirection.
Distraction.
What people don't really know is it isn't the magician that makes the trick magical. It's the object. What is a zig-zag box without the blades? What is a cage without a dove?
The object is the spark--the real reason why the illusion is worth seeing, worth doing, worth discovering.
Sometimes magicians lose their rabbits. They get lost in the act, or the magician makes a mistake and has to coax the rabbit back out. Because without the rabbit, the trick is useless. Without the rabbit, the hat becomes insignificant.
Kaylee Elizabeth Sperling, you are the rabbit to my hat, and I love you. Please forgive me for losing the spark in your trick. I will do whatever I can to make it up to you, starting with this deck of cards. 52 reasons why I love you. And I could fill another deck. Perhaps two more or three.
Whatever it takes to coax my rabbit back out.
-Nate ~ Cassie Mae