Wool 6 Quotes

He had wandered with innocence and naivete into this web, and now every move would wrap him tighter. Each lie would stick to the others, until one day he would find himself in a tight little cocoon, trapped and suffocating from the thousands of little fibs that living and working in that cursed swamp of a city seemed to require every man to ooze. ~ Hugh Howey

But unvented - ahh! One un-vents something; one unearths it; one digs it up, one runs it down in whatever recesses of the eternal consciousness it has gone to ground. I very much doubt if anything is really new when one works in the prehistoric medium of wool with needles. The products of science and technology may be new, and some of them are quite horrid, but knitting? In knitting there are ancient possibilities; the earth is enriched with the dust of the millions of knitters who have held wool and needles since the beginning of sheep. Seamless sweaters and one-row buttonholes; knitted hems and phoney seams - it is unthinkable that these have, in mankind's history, remained undiscovered and unknitted. One likes to believe that there is memory in the fingers; memory undeveloped, but still alive. ~ Elizabeth Zimmermann

The bosom can ache beneath diamond brooches; and many a blithe heart dances under coarse wool. ~ Edwin Hubbel Chapin

I almost wish that I could replace their hideous flok dolls, as a gesture of my gratitude. Could you, perhaps, have one of the local women fashion a crude poppet out of, say, a wooden spool and some scraps of wool? Nothing fancy. Aesthetic standars for this particular collection were not high, believe me. "Ugly" and "ill-crafted" seem to be part of the key criteria. ~ Beth Fantaskey

I'm a dyed-in-the-wool party man. I don't know just what party I am in right now, but I am for the party. ~ Huey Long

Tehol collected his cup and carefully sniffed. Then he frowned at his manservant.
Who shrugged. "We don't have no herbs, master. I had to improvise."
"With what? Sheep hide?"
Bugg's brows rose. "Very close indeed. I had some leftover wool."
"The yellow or the grey?"
"The grey."
"Well, that's alright, then." He sipped. "Smooth."
"Yes, it would be."
"We're not poisoning ourselves, are we?" – MT 237 ~ Steven Erikson

Trouble travels fast / When you're specially designed for crash testing / Or wearing wool sunglasses in the afternoon. ~ Jack Johnson

She can outstare anyone, and I am almost as good. We're impervious, we scintillate, we are thirteen. We wear long wool coats with tie belts, the collars turned up to look like those of movie stars, and rubber boots with the tops folded down and men's work socks inside. In our pockets are stuffed the kerchiefs our mothers make us wear but that we take off as soon as we're out of their sight. We scorn head coverings. Our mouths are tough, crayon-red, shiny as nails. We think we are friends. ~ Margaret Atwood

The man had asked, Why do you want sheep? The wool? Meat? Monroe's answer had been, For the atmosphere. ~ Charles Frazier

Though your sins are like scarlet, they will be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they will be like wool. ~ Anonymous

Like most of the others, she'd been wearing the same clothing for a week - in her case, a long-sleeved wool shirt and sturdy green trousers with numerous pockets - but, unlike the others, her garb appeared clean and freshly ironed. Even Maldynado rarely looked so crisp - apparently his love of fashion didn't extend to a love of doing laundry. ~ Lindsay Buroker

I'm famous for my Shepherd's Pie. Here's my recipe: lamb, potatoes, cheese, peas, paprika, and a wool-covered apron for the chef/shepherd/wolf-like politician to wear while serving the sheeple up. ~ Jarod Kintz

Sir Gerek handed her a gray wool blanket, then lay down next to the fire.
"Don't you have a blanket?"
"I forgot to get one when we were at the castle, but I don't need one. It's warm enough now."
"The nights are still quite cool. Here you take the blanket and I will put on the rest of my clothes. It's the perfect solution."
"No, thank you. I don't need it."
She let out an exasperated sigh...
...Sir Gerek was laying down near the fire, his eyes closed. Rapunzel moved as quietly as she could toward his still form, then carefully laid the the blanket over him.
She lay down with her head near his and closed her eyes.
Her eyes popped open. Something was touching her legs and was gradually being laid over the rest of her body. She suspected it was the gray woolen blanket she had laid on Sir Gerek. When he finished, he walked back over to where he had been sleeping and lay down again.

Gerek awoke with the blanket laying over him. How had she managed to cover him without him waking up? He sat up. She lay asleep on her side, her thick braid touching her cheek. The sun was casting a soft glow over her and making her look even more otherworldly.
He found himself smiling as he draped the blanket over her while she slept.
When she awoke, he already had Donner saddled and breakfast ready.
"When did you do this?" She held out the blanket. With the scolding half frown and lowered her brows, she took his breath away...
... ~ Melanie Dickerson

On the table there, polished now and plain, an ugly case would stand containing butterflies and moths, and another one with bird's eggs wrapped in cotton wool. "Not all this junk in here," I would say, "take them to the schoolroom darlings," and they would run off, shouting, calling to one another, but the little one staying behind, pottering on his own, quieter than the others ~ Daphne Du Maurier

When will you disembarrass yourselves of the lymphatic ideology of that deplorable Ruskin, which I would like to cover with so much ridicule that you would never forget it? With his morbid dream of primitive and rustic life, with his nostalgia for Homeric cheeses and legendary wool-spinners, with his hatred for the machine, steam power, and electricity, that maniac of antique simplicity is like a man who, after having reached full physical maturity, still wants to sleep in his cradle and feed himself at the breast of his decrepit old nurse in order to recover his thoughtless infancy. ~ Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

But whether you're a memoirist or not, there's a psychic cost for lopping yourself off from the past: it may continue to tug on you without your being aware of it. And lying about it can - for all but the most hardened sociopath - carve a lonely gap between your disguise and who you really are. The practiced liar also projects her own manipulative, double-dealing façade onto everyone she meets, which makes moving through the world a wary, anxious enterprise. It's hard enough to see what's going on without forcing yourself to look through the wool you've pulled over your own eyes…For the more haunted among us, only looking back at the past can permit it finally to become past. ~ Mary Karr

Behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we - I mean all human beings - are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art; that we are parts of the work of art. Hamlet or a Beethoven quartet is the truth about this vast mass that we call the world. But there is no Shakespeare, there is no Beethoven; certainly and emphatically there is no God; we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself. ~ Virginia Woolf

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool. ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

In his comfortable coffin, face veiled in dark silk, eyes open or closed, Pan Loudermilk lies waiting, a player from a tribe never stilled so much as gathered, potential as potent as a knife in the scabbard, a poem in the mind, a wind that rises as a breeze in the tropics, later to lash the wintry coastline, and smash its boats and sailors on the shore. Or perhaps that is purest make-believe, as a puppet is only a tool, made of wood, and wool, and wire. As we are blood, and fancy, and bites of bone and dream. ~ Kathe Koja

Mothering had come so naturally to Maureen. It was as if another woman had been waiting inside her all along, ready to slip out. She knew how to swing her body so that a baby slept; how to soften her voice; how to curl her hand to support his head. She knew what temperature the water should be in his bath, and when he needed to nap, and how to knit him blue wool socks. He had no idea she knew these things and he had watched with awe, like a spectator from the shadows. It both deepened his love for her and lifted her apart, so that just at the moment when he thought their marriage would intensify, it seemed to lose its way, or at least set them in different places. ~ Rachel Joyce

Although he had changed his name, his history came with him, even to his writing. The rhythm of his rain-soaked childhood became a sequence of words. His memories of the understory of the great forest burst into lyrical phrases, as resinous as the sap of a pinecone, as crisp as the shell of a beetle. Sentences grew long, then pulled up short, taking on the tempo of the waves upon the shore, or swayed gently, like the plaintive song of a lone harmonica. His fury became essays that pointed, stabbed, and burned. His convictions played out with the monotonous determination of a printing press. And his affections became poems, as warm and supple as the wool of a well-loved sheep. ~ Pam Munoz Ryan

She gave a frustrated little cry. Everyone thinks I should be wrapped up in cotton wool and babied-when I'm not being pitied, that is! But I'm no tame housecat. I never have been. What was done to me didn't alter that. I'm attracted to Judd's strength-give me a nice gentle puppy dog of a man and I'd drive him to tears within the hour. ~ Nalini Singh

Vic gazed up at Kellan. His mate's breathing was slow, but steady, and somewhere deep inside Vic believed that Kellan was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. The gods would watch over his beautiful swan and keep their egg safe.
Soon, Vic's eyes grew heavy, but he fought against the sleep trying to take him. No, not yet. Just a little longer. He didn't want Kellan to go through the egg-laying all by himself, not when Vic could be there and offer encouragement, to share in the moment and reassure him if he became scared.
The wool blanket was doing its job and Vic had warmed up nicely. His eyelids fluttered, so he tried to keep his focus on Kellan, tried to keep from drifting off.
Kellan. My precious mate, my love…
The song of a cardinal invaded Vic's dream and he tried to ignore it in favor of the imaginary outing he was enjoying with Kellan on the lake during some future summer. We can bring the baby. I bet it will be a water baby, same as its daddy. The slow trill of the winter bird cut through Vic's peaceful world and his eyes flew open, his brain registering it was morning right as his eyes adjusted to the light.
He yelped, his arms flailing for a second before he tumbled off the bed and landed with a thump onto the braided rug. Vic lay there for a moment, his heart pounding, trying to work out whether he was still in a dream or truly awake. He sucked in a deep breath, then pushed up from the floor. He peered over the edge of the be ~ M.M. Wilde

After all, the wool of a black sheep is just as warm. ~ Ernest Lehman

You're beautiful, Finnie, but by the gods you have never been more beautiful than you are right now, spread before me, wrapped in my wool and filled with me ~ Kristen Ashley

It's stained and frayed in such distinctive ways, but it's very definitely made out of wool. And now...now it's polyester, which means that I'm not lying on my carpet in my apartment. You have lived up to your reputation Mr Cobb. I'm still dreaming! ~ Saito

John was prosecuted (or threatened with prosecution - the records are sometimes a touch unclear) for trading in wool and for money-lending, both highly illegal activities. ~ Bill Bryson

Except for the severe coloring, Arsinoe does not look much like a queen. Her hair is rough, and they cannot keep her from cutting it. Her black trousers are the same ones she wears everyday, and so is her light black jacket. The only piece of finery they could get her into for the occasion was a new scarf that Madrigal found at Pearson's, made from the wool of their fancy, flop-eared rabbits. ~ Kendare Blake

removal of the wool from those venerable countenances depended upon it. ~ Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

She clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn't easy as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white chemise first.
She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn't far behind, but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of her father's soldiers.
When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure. Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag for her dagger. She spun around.
She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell, dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she instinctively scrambled away from him.
His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had se ~ Jean M. Grant

The whole character and fortune of the individual are affected by the least inequalities in the culture of the understanding; for example, in the perception of differences. Therefore is Space, and therefore Time, that man may know that things are not huddled and lumped, but sundered and individual. A bell and a plough have each their use, and neither can do the office of the other. Water is good to drink, coal to burn, wool to wear; but wool cannot be drunk, nor water spun, nor coal eaten. The wise man shows his wisdom in separation, in gradation, and his scale of creatures and of merits is as wide as nature. The foolish have no range in their scale, but suppose every man is as every other man. What is not good they call the worst, and what is not hateful, they call the best. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

The wool of a thousand sheep in good pasture at the least ought to yield fifty marks a year, the wool of two thousand one hundred marks, and so forth, counting by thousands. ~ Robert Grosseteste

A new beginning done right," she said out loud, because everyone knew that saying it out loud made it true. "You hear that, karma?" She glanced upward through her slightly leaky sunroof into a dark sky, where storm clouds tumbled together like a dryer full of gray wool blankets. "This time, I'm gong to be strong." Like Katharine Hepburn. Like Ingrid Bergman ."So go torture someone else and leave me alone."
A bolt of lightning blinded her, followed by a boom of thunder that nearly had her jerking out of her skin. "Okay, so I meant pretty please leave me alone."
-Maddie ~ Jill Shalvis

Val was eating cornflakes. She ate very little else, at home. They were light, they were pleasant, they were comforting, and then after a day or two they were like cotton wool. ~ A.S. Byatt

A shade of sorrow passed over Taliesin's face. 'There are those,' he said gently, 'who must first learn loss, despair, and grief. Of all paths to wisdom, this is the cruelest and longest. Are you one who must follow such a way? This even I cannot know. If you are, take heart nonetheless. Those who reach the end do more than gain wisdom. As rough wool becomes cloth, and crude clay a vessel, so do they change and fashion wisdom for others, and what they give back is greater than what they won. ~ Lloyd Alexander

It had never occurred to me, though when you read the bible it is perfectly plain if you pay attention only to the words. It is the pictures in the bible that fool you. The pictures that illustrate the words. All of the people are white and so you just think all the people from the bible were white too. But really white white people lived somewhere else during those times. That's why the bible says that Jesus Christ had hair like lamb's wool. Lamb's wool is not straight, Celie. It isn't even curly. ~ Alice Walker

a heavy, hooded wool ~ Michael Palmer