Puppets On A String Quotes

We are co-creators with God, not puppets on a string waiting for something to happen. ~ Leo Booth

I call the polar opposites to Wrong Planet people Rag, Tag & Bobtail because they're really nothing but glove puppets. Their heads are little more than hollow wood and at times they seem to be controlled by strings and rods and levers with invisible hands inside them making them 'perform.' Most glove puppets have fixed facial expressions and a hinged mouth, giving them a dull, lifeless expression. ~ Karl Wiggins

We get paid to hang out in this beautiful court! Four puppets on a string, just like those two up there (pointing to the two hanging puppets), waiting for someone to jerk them into life and make them talk. ~ Luigi Pirandello

Freedom's never been free, there's always been a price to be paid, but people have forgotten; they're handing their freedom, their lives, over like well behaved puppets on a string ... slavery is returning by choice. ~ L.M. Fields

In the rough-and-tumble play of politics, dog-whistle messages are copiously dispatched over the heads of the grassroots people that cannot see the writing on the wall and have to remain in the cold, like dumb puppets on a string. ("What after bowling alone?" ) ~ Erik Pevernagie

It took me a good thirty minutes to find Cal. That was actually a good thing, because it gave me plenty of time to come up with something to say to him that wasn't just a string of four-letter words.
There are a lot of freaky things witches and warlocks do, obviously, but the arranged marriage thing was one of the grossest. When a witch is thirteen, her parents hook her up with an available warlock, based on things like compatible powers and family alliances. The entire thing is so eighteenth century.
As I stomped across school grounds, all I could see was Cal sitting with my dad in some manly room with leather chairs and dead animals on the wall, chomping on cigars as Dad formally signed me away to him.They probably even high-fived.
Okay,so it's not like either of them are exactly the cigar-and-high-fives type, but still. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Consider yourself and the cello. As you play the music moves out to the listener, and also enters the core of your own being, for somehow you are tuned to the cello. Well, I am persuaded that this is because you are a chord. I am a chord. Our DNA dictates our physicality-made up of billions of little notes-on a basic level. Add to that our geography, background et cetera, and you have your original score. Life is the layering of chords, but the underlying one that we are will never change. This brings us to string theory and love. Our personal chord resonates with the personal ones of others, and sometimes we encounter another person who is completely harmonious with us. It is a dominant, overwhelming attraction on the DNA level. However, such a person can appear to be our opposite-and that's where this 'opposites attract' notion comes from-because they have tuned their chord in a different way. In reality, we are attracted to the person we have chosen not to become, an alternative adjustment to a chord that is nearly the same as our own. The clashing portions of the chords sounding together advance the richness of it. So when you make love you aren't expressing emotions or showing affection, you are merging melodies. You are players in the same symphony. ~ Sarah Emily Miano

There is a great deal to be said in favour of reading a novel backwards. The last page is as a rule the most interesting, and when one begins with the catastrophe or the dénouement one feels on pleasant terms of equality with the author. It is like going behind the scenes of a theatre. One is no longer taken in, and the hair-breadth escapes of the hero and the wild agonies of the heroine leave one absolutely unmoved. One knows the jealously guarded secret, and one can afford to smile at the quite unnecessary anxiety that the puppets of fiction always consider it their duty to display. ~ Oscar Wilde

The proverbial German phenomenon of the verb-at-the-end about which droll tales of absentminded professors who would begin a sentence, ramble on for an entire lecture, and then finish up by rattling off a string of verbs by which their audience, for whom the stack had long since lost its coherence, would be totally nonplussed, are told, is an excellent example of linguistic recursion. ~ Douglas Hofstadter

How flimsy our existence is, how many conditions must exist and must continue to exist over the course of millions of years so that a single flower or a single pencil or a single book might exist ... For a moment I felt like a string being strummed by thousands of fingers, and I closed my eyes. Our existence on this planet hangs by a thread, every tomato and every onion is such an enormous miracle you could collapse with awe in a vegetable market. ~ Dror Burstein

If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?" - Lucien Vanserra ~ Sarah J. Maas

In hip-hop, I wasn't very focused on delivering a message. It was just a string of lines that didn't connect. What I wanted to do is write stories ... and affect someone's emotions with that song. I think as a soul singer, I'm able to accomplish that. ~ Aloe Blacc

There's an old joke about a man who buys a cookbook for his wife and a negligee for his mistress. Somehow, though, the two parcels get mixed up and he fears that all will be lost. But on the contrary both women are delighted: the wife thrilled to be viewed in a sexual manner after years of domestic tedium, the mistress overjoyed that her lover considers her as more than just a body. I imagined the scenario as I trudged my way through Myer and David Jones. Should I look for lingerie for Cress, reassure her that despite all the hiccups of the past few months I still loved and wanted her? I thought I did, but a leopard-print G-string didn't seem the right way to express that. ~ Kylie Ladd

I was held together by one thread that was black and frayed, and the end of it was tied to Maggie. She had unwittingly pulled on it, loosening the already loose knitting until I was nothing more than a pile of tangled string, completely unraveled. ~ Ashlan Thomas

He meant business; I could hear it in his voice.
Marlboro Man was talking about Chicago, about my imminent move. I'd told him my plans the first time we'd ever spoken on the phone, and he'd mentioned it once or twice during our two wonderful weeks together. But the more time we'd spent together, the less it had come up. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to talk about while I was with him.
I couldn't respond. I had no idea what to say.
"You there?" Marlboro Man asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm here." That was all I could manage.
"Well…I just wanted to say good night," he said quietly.
"I'm glad you did," I replied. I was an idiot.
"Good night," he whispered.
"Good night."
I woke up the next morning with puffy, swollen eyes. I'd slept like a rock, having dreamed about Marlboro Man all night long. They'd been vivid dreams, crazy dreams, dreams of us talking and playing chess and shooting each other with Silly String. He'd already become such a permanent fixture in my consciousness, I dreamed about him nightly…effortlessly. ~ Ree Drummond

Man was first a hunter, and an artist: his early vestiges tell us that alone. But he must always have dreamed, and recognized and guessed and supposed, all the skills of the imagination. Language itself is a continuously imaginative act. Rational discourse outside our familiar territory of Greek logic sounds to our ears like the wildest imagination. The Dogon, a people of West Africa, will tell you that a white fox named Ogo frequently weaves himself a hat of string bean hulls, puts it on his impudent head, and dances in the okra to insult and infuriate God Almighty, and that there's nothing we can do about it except abide him in faith and patience.

This is not folklore, or quaint custom, but as serious a matter to the Dogon as a filling station to us Americans. The imagination; that is, the way we shape and use the world, indeed the way we see the world, has geographical boundaries like islands, continents, and countries. These boundaries can be crossed. That Dogon fox and his impudent dance came to live with us, but in a different body, and to serve a different mode of the imagination. We call him Brer Rabbit. ~ Guy Davenport

Oliver opened the door of the carriage and found his puppets huddled together on the bench. He gestured for them to come closer. "Hurry," he hissed. "Unless you want to become as tiny as ants."
"Oliver, did you know that you have a rainbow on your head?" Andrew remarked. ~ Zeinab Alayan

If you don't strain the strings, and then try to break them, you'll find it a difficult job; but strain a string to its very utmost, and the mere weight of one finger on the strained string will snap it. ~ Leo Tolstoy

That year, and every year, it seemed, we began by studying the Revolutionary War. We were taken in school buses on field trips to visit Plymouth Rock, and to walk the Freedom Trail, and to climb to the top of the Bunker Hill Monument. We made dioramas out of colored construction paper depicting George Washington crossing the choppy waters of the Delaware River, and we made puppets of King George wearing white tights and a black bow in his hair. During tests we were given blank maps of the thirteen colonies, and asked to fill in names, dates, capitals. I could do it with my eyes closed. ~ Jhumpa Lahiri

It doesn't even - " one word "hurt " was supposed to come out of my mouth. Instead, a string of obscenities to make a lifelong sailor proud shoot out.
"What thefuck are you doing? Shit! You don't pour it on like that, you fucking jackhole! Fuck!"
I'm seething in pain, the sting agonizing. Ashton isn't paying any heed, turning my hand this way and that to examine it closer.
"Looks clean."
"Yeah, because you just bleached the shit out of it!"
"Relax. It'll stop stinging soon. Distract yourself by staring at me while we wait for this to settle down. That's how you got yourself into this mess to begin with ... ~ K.A. Tucker

There were two sisters, they went playing,

To see their father's ships come sailing …

And when they came unto the sea-brim

The elder did push the younger in
Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,

'Til her corpse came to the miller's dam

"But what did he do with her breastbone?

He made him a viol to play on.

What'd he do with her fingers so small?

He made pegs to his viol withall

And what did he do with her nose-ridge?

Unto his viol he made a bridge.

What did he do with her veins so blue?

He made strings to his viol thereto

What did he do with her eyes so bright?

On his viol he set at first light.

What did he do with her tongue so rough?

'Twas the new till and it spoke enough

"Then bespake the treble string,

'O yonder is my father the king.'

Then bespake the second string,

'O yonder sits my mother the queen.'

Then bespake the strings all three,

'Yonder is my sister that drowned me.' ~ Sarah J. Maas

One is that you have to take time, lots of time, to let an idea grow from within. The second is that when you sign on to something, there will be issues of trust, deep trust, the way the members of a string quartet have to trust one another. ~ Yo-Yo Ma

When you click on a link, you are replicating the string of code that it links to. Replication of code sequences isn't life, any more than replication of nucleotide sequences is, but we know that it sometimes leads to life. ~ George Dyson

Mostly what I remember is the way things looked sometimes after I'd push down the plunger, sometimes when I got so high so fast I couldn't even take the needle out of my arm. I just sat back, head lolling on my shoulders like a balloon on a string, and everything, walls, carpet, couch cushion, my own hands, broke down to swirling molecules, reassembled as a million other things, and danced before my eyes before arranging themselves once more as reality. The endless cycle, that dance of molecules and their return to something solid, left me as drained as if I'd flown around the sun with veins for wings. ~ Jerry Stahl

Why love the boy in a March field with his kite braving the sky? Because our fingers burn with the hot string singeing our hands. Why love some girl viewed from a train bent to a country well? The tongue remembers iron water cool on some long lost noon. Why weep at strangers dead by the road? They resemble friends unseen in forty years. Why laugh when clowns are hot by pies? We taste custard we taste life. Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, heart, and soul. ~ Ray Bradbury

Yawn. String-on-a-stick.
Fine. I'll come out and chase it
to make you happy. ~ Lee Wardlaw

Well, what can I say? I guess I thought that we didn't have to get going right away, so I sat down on my bed---there wasn't much else to sit on---and suggested that we might have a drink or something first. But do you know what she did then? She asked me to leave. She ordered me out of my own home, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. Obviously I refused. I was like: 'I do actually live here.' But she said: 'Piss off, get lost' and I didn't see what choice I had so I was out for a while. When I got back she was lying there on my bed, smoking---how sick is that? And reading a book about string theory or something. Maybe I gave her some sort of dodgy look, what do I know, and she said that she wasn't planning on having sex with me, not even a little. 'Not even a little' she said, and I don't think she looked me in the eye once. She just announced that we'd had a Trogan, a RAT, and that she recognized the pattern in the breach, the level of originality in the programming. 'You've been blown,' she said. And then she walked out,'
"Without saying goodbye?"
"Without a single damn word,"
"Christ. ~ David Lagercrantz

I don't know why a computer game can't be an art form just as a puppet show or an opera is. I'm still interested in computer games as something I would like to work on someday. ~ Fred Saberhagen

She plunged her snout into my hair and took a deep shuddering breath.
A warm string of drool dripped from her open maw onto my bare shoulder.
I forced myself to stay very calm, and after a moment, she released me.
Giving a bashful shrug, she said, "Sorry. Werewolf thing."
"Hey, no problem," I said, even though all I could think was, Slobber! Werewolf slobber! On my skin! ~ Rachel Hawkins

IT IS SO EASY TO GIVE IN
I have been thinking about the man who gives in.
Have you heard about him? In this story
A twenty-eight-foot pine meets a small wind
And the pine bends all the way over to the ground.
I was persuaded," the pine says. "It was convincing."
A mouse visits a cat, and the cat agrees
To drown all her children. "What could I do?"
The cat said. "The mouse needed that."
It's strange. I've heard that some people conspire
In their own ruin. A fool says, "You don't
Deserve to live." The man says, "I'll string this rope
Over that branch, maybe you can find a box."
The Great One with her necklace of skulls says,
I need twenty thousand corpses." "Tell you what,"
The General says, "we have an extra battalion
Over there on the hill. We don't need all these men. ~ Robert Bly

In an age of iPhones and Playstations, it's great to see that somebody's still rocking the bus-on-a-string. ~ Brandon Stanton

That, you know, is why the world exists at all. It remains outside the cosmic garbage can of nothingness, not because it is such a solemn necessity that nobody can get rid of it, but because it is the orange peel hung on God's chandelier, the wishbone in His kitchen closet. He likes it; therefore, it stays. The whole marvelous collection of stones, skins, feathers, and string exists because at least one lover has never quite taken His eye off it, because the Dominus vivificans has his delight with the sons of men. ~ Robert Farrar Capon

It is no accident that I made Cartoon Town a simple little village - in many ways it mirrored my home town. And, yes, many of my puppet characters took on some of the more eccentric characteristics of people I knew there. ~ William Jackson

I have on my table a violin string. It is free to move in any direction I like. If I twist one end, it responds; it is free.
But it is not free to sing. So I take it and fix it into my violin. I bind it and when it is bound, it is free for the first time to sing. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

The truth is, I don't know what will happen across the entire world in the coming decades, and neither does anyone else. Not everyone, though, shares my reticence. A Web search for the text string "the coming war" returns two million hits, with completions like "with Islam," "with Iran," "with China," "with Russia," "in Pakistan," "between Iran and Israel," "between India and Pakistan," "against Saudi Arabia," "on Venezuela," "in America," "within the West," "for Earth's resources," "over climate," "for water," and "with Japan" (the last dating from 1991, which you would think would make everyone a bit more humble about this kind of thing). Books with titles like The Clash of Civilizations, World on Fire, World War IV, and (my favorite) We Are Doomed boast a similar confidence. Who knows? Maybe they're right. My aim in the rest of this chapter is to point out that maybe they're wrong. ~ Steven Pinker

I'll tell you whose view on [Bashar] Assad is the same as mine. It's Prime Minister [Benjamin] Netanyahu. Prime Minister Netanyahu has said Israel doesn't have a dog in that fight because Assad is a puppet of Iran, a Shia radical Islamic terrorist, but at the same time, Prime Minister Netanyahu doesn't want to see Syria governed by ISIS. ~ Ted Cruz

As Marlboro Man slid open the huge barn doors and flipped on the enormous lights mounted to the beams, my heart began beating quickly. I couldn't wait to smell its puppy breath.
"Happy wedding," he said sweetly, leaning against the wall of the barn and motioning toward the center with his eyes. My eyes adjusted to the light…and slowly focused on what was before me.
It wasn't a pug. It wasn't a diamond or a horse or a shiny gold bangle…or even a blender. It wasn't a love seat. It wasn't a lamp. Sitting before me, surrounded by scattered bunches of hay, was a bright green John Deere riding lawn mower--a very large, very green, very mechanical, and very diesel-fueled John Deere riding lawn mower. Literally and figuratively, crickets chirped in the background of the night. And for the hundredth time since our engagement, the reality of the future for which I'd signed up flashed in front of me. I felt a twinge of panic as I saw the tennis bracelet I thought I didn't want go poof, disappearing completely into the ether. Would this be how presents on the ranch would always be? Does the world of agriculture have a different chart of wedding anniversary presents? Would the first anniversary be paper…or motor oil? Would the second be cotton or Weed Eater string?
I would add this to the growing list of things I still needed to figure out. ~ Ree Drummond

...There's no possible way I won't find you. Our hearts are tethered by love & fate. I'm tugging on that string-feel me?... ~ J.A. Huss