Dress Fabric Quotes & Sayings

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him, his fingers knotting in the fabric of her dress. Even more than in the attic, she felt caught in the eddy of a powerful wave that threatened to pull her over and under, to crush and break her, to wear her down to softness as the sea might wear down a piece of glass. — Cassandra Clare

The clock is ticking. I should be leaving right now. But what I want to do is take Cicely in my arms and press her up against me hard enough to make her not care that I'm messing up her lipstick. I want to pick her up and carry her back through that doorway. We're only a few strides from the couch, only one rip away from ruining that expensive fabric, the dress she must have bought to wear for him. — Laura Bradley Rede

Barbara appraised her with critical eyes. 'Oh my. Well, this is going to need some work.' She went right to Carmen's hips and pulled the unfinished seams open. 'Yes, we'll have to take this way out. I'm not sure I have enough fabric. I'll check when I get back to my office.'
You are a horrible witch, Carmen thought.
She knew she looked absolutely awful in the dress. She was part Bourbon Street whore and part Latina first-communion spectacle. — Ann Brashares

But when I went to sit down, I hesitated. The shining silk fabric of my purple dress winked in the sunlight, mocking me. "What's wrong now?" "I can't - My dress, it will - I shouldn't," I stuttered again, feeling stupid. "No worries." The boy rose up on his knees as he removed his simple gray coat. He laid it out on the grass across from himself and sat back down, gesturing for me to do the same. "Sit there. I've seen my da do that for my mum loads of times." "Thank you very much." "What — Tracey Ward

She was of traditional build herself, but her figure was largely concealed by the folds of a generously cut shift dress made out of a flecked green fabric. It was like a tent, thought Mma Ramotswe
a camouflage tent of the sort that the Botswana Defence Force might use. But I do not sit in judgement on the dresses of others, she told herself, and a tent was a practical enough garment, if that is what one felt comfortable in. — Alexander McCall Smith

Leave it to the English to fabricate a lake," she tossed over her shoulder to Carla, who snickered.
"And leave it to the Italians to fall into it!"
"I was retrieving my hat!"
"Ah . . . that makes it all much more logical. Do you even know how to swim?"
"Do I know how to swim?" she asked, and he took more than a little pleasure in her offense.
"I was raised on the banks of the Adige! Which happens to be a real river."
"Impressive," he said, not at all impressed. "And tell me, did you ever swim in said river?"
"Of course! But I wasn't wearing" - she waved a hand to indicate her dress - "sixteen layers of fabric!"
"Why not?"
"Because you don't swim in sixteen layers of fabric!"
"No?"
"No!"
"Why not?" He had her now.
"Because you will drown!"
"Ah," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Well, at least we've learned something today. — Sarah MacLean

Pamela pulled off her cloak and Alexei gasped.
"You have on breeches!" He stared in disbelief. "Breeches!"
"I've never worn them before, and they are extremely comfortable. I quite like them." She smoothed the fabric over her hip. "Besides, you don't expect me to duel in a dress, do you?"
"I do not expect you to duel at all!"
Pamela ignored him. "That would be most unfair, dueling in a dress, unless, of course, you would be willing to wear a dress as well?"
"Don't be absurd." He snorted in disdain. "I have no intention of ever wearing women's clothing again."
"Again?" She raised a brow.
"It was an unavoidable disguise," he muttered. — Victoria Alexander

The raw urgency in Rob's voice sent fresh blood flooding into Emily's already swollen sex. She squirmed. feeling her orgasm approaching. Fast.
"Say it again," Rob ground out, dragging one hand up her torso until his fingers found her breast. He cupped its weight, worshipping its form through the soft fabric of her dress.
She gasped again, arching her back. "I want you," she panted, the sensations his fingers on her breast created almost stealing her ability to speak. "I want you. I have from the very - "
He didn't let her finish. His lips claimed hers, his hand squeezing and massaging her breast as his tongue plundered her mouth. He pinched her nipple with hungry force, his tongue matching the ferocity of the caress. Her body burned with pleasure at his feverish actions, the undeniable desire each stoke of his tongue, each flick of his fingers wrought on her body pushing her closer and closer to eruption. — Lexxie Couper

Why, I ... I still like you." Nerves fluttered in her chest, but she kept her tone light. "Do you like me?"
A few moments passed in silence. She would have counted them in heartbeats, but her foolish heart had become a most unreliable timepiece. It gave three pounding beats in a flurry, then none at all.
Just when she'd begun to despair, he turned his head, catching her in a passionate, openmouthed kiss. He put both arms around her, fisting his hands in the fabric of her dress, lifting her up and against his chest. So that her body recalled every inch of his, every second of their blissful lovemaking. The now-familiar ache returned - that sweet, hollow pang of desire that only deepened as his tongue flickered over hers. In a matter of seconds, he had her gasping. Needing. Damp.
Then he set her back on her toes. Pressed his brow to hers and released a deep, resonant sigh. And just before turning to leave, he spoke a single word.
He said, "No. — Tessa Dare

He slammed her door shut and spun her so she was facing him.

"One more for the road." She stared at him with a perplexed expression but didn't back away. "I want another taste," he said, feeling his heart race. He leaned her against the car and crushed his lips against hers. This time she ran her fingers through his hair, making him moan. He wanted to touch the curves of her body through the thick fabric of her dress, but he forced himself to concentrate all his efforts on her sexy, soft, pouty lips. When he released her, they were both breathless. Her lips were chapped, and those golden eyes were on fire with a carnal sexuality. There was so much electricity between them that, if harnessed, they could power the whole damn city. — M.K. Schiller

Words are like the delicate stitches in the dress you wear, holding the fabric of the garmet together. Without them, the dress and the world are nothing but barren cloth — Lisa Mantchev

Coming from where we do, it's a rough adjustment - living here." He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, his calluses scratching against the fabric of her dress. "It's true what they say about life in the dark ages, you know: nasty, brutish, and short. You and I once took it for granted we would die as old people in our beds, but we have no such assurance now. I'll help you how I can, Isabella; but I can't guarantee that either of us will live even to see tomorrow. Life is worth fighting for, young lady. But don't feel it is something you're owed. — Kristin McTiernan

Almost every collection I do has 200 different references. I don't have two of the same coat, two of the same dress. I have it in one color, in one fabric. I've tried to adapt the culture of couture, and the know-how and the heritage, but I try to update it. — Alber Elbaz

In New Orleans, on the other hand, geography and time, food, music, holidays, modes of dress and ways of speaking, are part of an integrated fabric. People dress in certain ways for certain events, and certain foods are eaten on certain days, — Tom Piazza

On a hanger, no dress is sexy. It's just fabric on a hanger. — Donatella Versace

Glorious,' said Steerpike, 'is a dictionary word. We are all imprisoned by the dictionary. We choose out of that vast, paper-walled prison our convicts, the little black printed words, when in truth we need fresh sounds to utter, new enfranchised noises which would produce a new effect. In dead and shackled language, my dears, you *are* glorious, but oh, to give vent to a brand new sounds that might convince you of what I really think of you, as you sit there in your purple splendour, side by side! But no, it is impossible. Life is too fleet for onomatopoeia. Dead words defy me. I can make no sound, dear ladies, that is apt.' 'You could try,' said Clarice. 'We aren't busy.' She smoothed the shining fabric of her dress with her long, lifeless fingers. 'Impossible,' replied the youth, rubbing his chin. 'Quite impossible. Only believe in my admiration for your beauty that will one day be recognized by the whole castle. Meanwhile, preserve all dignity and silent power in your twin bosoms. — Mervyn Peake

The woman with the cat complex is named Mrs. Alice Plesher, but she doesn't reveal her first name to him and Sai only finds out by accident, later. Mrs. Plesher calls the paper and is put through to Sai. He has no idea why although he could guess the new guy gets all of the reporter-on-the-beat drudgery assignments until proven worthy. Alice speaks haltingly as if hardened by age and her voice reveals a rasp. Sai pictures her in a long house dress from the fifties, wide pink and white stripes fading with age
a smock of beige over the dress, a multitude of cats clinging to the fabric like stick-ons. — Justin Bog

Kestrel saw a certain curiosity in the way they lingered. A waiting, a wondering.
"Deliah, what is it?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
Deliah fussed with the hem. "The Herrani representative has arrived."
"What?"
"He arrived this morning on horseback. He came through the pass in the nick of time."
"Take this dress off."
"But I'm not finished, my lady."
"Off."
"Just a few more--"
Kestrel tugged the fabric from her shoulders. She ignored Deliah's small cry, the pricks of pins, the thin chime of them scattering onto the stone floor. Kestrel stepped out of the dress, pulled on her day clothes, and rushed out the door. — Marie Rutkoski

He smirks when he reaches my underwear. I smile when he slides a hand over the satin fabric. "It was laundry day." He removes the rest of the dress, and neither one of us moves. "I've wasted more study time than I'd like to admit wondering if you were wearing anything or not." "That's funny," I say. "I fantasized about stabbing you in the eye with your pen." His touch halts. "Wait, what?" I laugh. "You don't want to know." He — Rachel Schneider

Logan took the kiss deeper. He thrust his tongue against hers, plunging into her mouth, just as he'd like to do to her body. All the while she ground her body into his. He fisted the fabric of her dress. In another moment, he'd be tempted to lift the skirt of that dress and take her, right there behind the bushes.
He broke the kiss and tried to regain his control and his breath. That was proving difficult with his hands still on her hips, pressing her close, but he wasn't ready to give up all of their contact quite yet. His gaze met hers. "I should apologize for that."
"Kiss me again and I'll consider forgiving you. — Cat Johnson

The white dress, made of billowy fabric like a cargo parachute, made her look like the female Boss Hogg trying out for a part in a community theater presentation of Brigadoon. — Jon Konrath

Will." Her hands pulled at his shirt, and it came away, the buttons tearing, his head shaking free of the fabric, all wild dark hair, Heathcliff on the moors. His hands were less sure on her dress, but it came away as well, off over her head, and was cast aside, leaving Tessa in her chemise and corset. She went motionless, shocked at being so undressed in front of anyone but Sophie, and Will took a wild look at her corset that was only part desire.
"How - ," he said. "Does it come off?"
Tessa couldn't help herself; despite everything, she giggled. "It laces," she whispered. "In the back. — Cassandra Clare

I wear a lot of black, and it's not because I'm depressed or anything. I like black jeans - they're pretty much the only colored jeans I wear. James Jeans have the most comfortable fabric. I'd say in general, I dress pretty comfortably. — Brittany Howard

Some people may think that it is a dangerous attitude to take toward the Bible, to pick and choose what you want to accept and throw everything else out. My view is that everyone already picks and chooses what they want to accept in the Bible ... I have a young friend who whose evangelical parents were upset because she wanted to get a tattoo, since the Bible, after all, condemns tattoos. In the same book, Leviticus, the Bible also condemns wearing clothing made of two different kinds of fabric and eating pork ... Why insist on the biblical teaching about tattoos but not about dress shirts, pork chops, and stoning? — Bart D. Ehrman

I was all too aware of his hands resting on my lower back, their imprints like sweet flames that seemed to go through the thin fabric of my dress and onto my skin. — Markelle Grabo

She wasn't bored. She was surprised to find herself having fun, not being shushed for wisecracks
or expected to sit quietly and behave. It was, she thought, a lot like hanging out with Theo and their
father - only different. Good different. And she was smart enough to realize it was the first women's
outing she'd ever had. Smart enough to understand Pilar knew it, too.
She didn't even mind being dragged into the dress shop, or having the conversation turn absolutely
and completely to clothes and fabric and color and cut.
And when she watched Sophia dash in, windblown, flushed, happy, Maddy at not quite fifteen had
a revelation. She wouldn't mind being like her, like Sophia Giambelli — Nora Roberts

For you she learned to wear a short black slip
and red lipstick,
how to order a glass of red wine
and finish it. She learned to reach out
as if to touch your arm and then not
touch it, changing the subject.
Didn't you think, she'd begin, or
Weren't you sorry. . . .

To call your best friends
by their schoolboy names
and give them kisses good-bye,
to look away when they say
Your wife! So your confidence grows.
She doesn't ask what you want
because she knows.

Isn't that what you think?

When actually she was only waiting
to be told Take off your dress---
to be stunned, and then do this,
never rehearsed, but perfectly obvious:
in one motion up, over, and gone,
the X of her arms crossing and uncrossing,
her face flashing away from you in the fabric
so that you couldn't say if she was
appearing or disappearing. — Deborah Garrison

In the car on my way to premieres and awards shows, I'll sit with tissue paper under my armpits so I don't soil the delicate dress fabric. The whole time, I'm telling myself, 'Please don't sweat, please don't sweat.' I throw the tissues out right before I step out of the car, and nobody ever knows! I just put on a smile and fake it. — Jessica Biel

What children don't understand, and can't understand until they grow up some, is how much the whole fabric and process of human society depends on everybody agreeing to ignore, most of the time, the fact that all of us are, most of the time, inadequate, incompetent, pitiful, and, in fact, naked to our enemies. None of us really has very much in the way of spiritual, moral clothing. We dress ourselves in rags. And we agree to say nothing about it. To a very large extent, it is human charity that clothes us. — Ursula K. Le Guin

Comfort, simplicity, practicality - these are all American words. It is simplicity in fabric and way of cut. You cannot produce complicated clothes or spend ten days making a dress. Mine is all done by scaling measurements. I use the body as the land, as when building a house. — Zoran

You truly are the most astonishingly beautiful hobbit I've ever seen," he said, and Tamsyn froze.
"Hobbit??"
"Um, yes?" he said, and Tamsyn looked down at herself in panic. Her suit had disappeared and been replaced by a straight dress in a rustic homespun fabric of a drab, brownish grey. Her hair still looked the same, she established when she grabbed a handful and held it up in front of her face, but when she scrabbled up and caught a glimpse of her feet, her legs immediately lost their strength again. She thudded back down hard and grabbed her left leg, yanking her foot up to her eyes.
It was bare, large and very, very hairy.
She checked her other foot as well, hoping against all laws of probability that it would be different, and groaned in consternation when it looked the same as the left one.
"This can't be true!" she wailed, scrambling to get up again. "I'm a hobbit! — Erica Dakin

Epidermal Macabre
Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes,-
The flying fabric stitched on bone,
The vesture of the skeleton,
The garment neither fur nor hair,
The cloak of evil and despair,
The veil long violated by
Caresses of the hand and eye.
Yet such is my unseemliness:
I hate my epidermal dress,
The savage blood's obscenity,
The rags of my anatomy,
And willingly would I dispense
With false accouterments of sense,
To sleep immodestly, a most
Incarnadine and carnal ghost. — Theodore Roethke