Spiderlike Quotes & Sayings

It is a fact that the USA corporate government routinely lies to its mass population. — Steven Magee

I told everyone you didn't go poof, but they just looked at me funny," said Maddie. Cedar shook her head. "You said, 'Tiny crow crowned unconfused with a cloud.' — Shannon Hale

Meditation is the movement of love. It isn't the love of the one or of the many. It is like water that anyone can drink out of any jar. — Jiddu Krishnamurti

Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,
Loyal to my image. — Sylvia Plath

My favourite eras for styles are still the 70s and 40s, and there will be a few iconic pieces to build the wardrobe around, like there were at Chloe, but I want there to be a feel of mix-and-match. — Phoebe Philo

My closet!" hissed the figure. A spiderlike hand darted out and grabbed the doorknob. "My closet! Mine!" And it slammed the door with a bang. — Julie Kagawa

Every emotion that we experience on a moment-by-moment basis has origin. The origin is a thought (s). — Assegid Habtewold

There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship. — Franz Kafka

At fourteen he runs away. He will not see again the freezing kitchenhouse in the predawn dark. The firewood, the washpots. He wanders west as far as Memphis, a solitary migrant upon that flat and pastoral landscape. Blacks in the fields, lank and stooped, their fingers spiderlike among the bolls of cotton. A shadowed agony in the garden. Against the sun's declining figures moving in the slower dusk across a paper skyline. A lone dark husbandman pursuing mule and harrow down the rainblown bottomland toward night. — Cormac McCarthy

Gliding spiderlike, rapidly, close behind Sharon, her body arched backward in a bow with her head almost touching her feet, was Regan, her tongue flicking quickly in and out of her mouth while she hissed sibilantly like a serpent. Sharon stopped then screamed as she felt Regan's tongue snaking out at her ankle. That day, everywhere Sharon went, Regan followed. — William Peter Blatty

Please let him come, and give me the resilience & guts to make him respect me, be interested, and not to throw myself at him with loudness or hysterical yelling; calmly, gently, easy baby easy. He is probably strutting the backs among crocuses now with seven Scandinavian mistresses. And I sit, spiderlike, waiting, here, home; Penelope weaving webs of Webster, turning spindles of Tourneur. Oh, he is here; my black marauder; oh hungry hungry. I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait; and he plays on the banks of the river Cam like a casual faun. — Sylvia Plath