Threaded Quotes & Sayings

We'll both be foolish," I said, "and vicious and cruel. We will never be safe with each other."
"Don't try too hard to be cheerful." His fingers threaded through mine.
"But we'll pretend we know how to love." I smiled at him. "And someday we'll learn."
And we walked through the gateway together. — Rosamund Hodge

Present is living with your feet firmly grounded in reality, pale and uncertain as it may seem. Present is choosing to believe that your own life is worth investing deeply in, instead of waiting for some rare miracle or fairytale. Present means we understand that the here and now is sacred, sacramental, threaded through with divinity even in its plainness. Especially in its plainness. — Shauna Niequist

Inheriting from Application is shorter than writing an explicit main method, but it also has some shortcomings. First, you can't use this trait if you need to access command-line arguments, because the args array isn't available. For example, because the Summer application uses command-line arguments, it must be written with an explicit main method, as shown in Listing 4.3. Second, because of some restrictions in the JVM threading model, you need an explicit main method if your program is multi-threaded. Finally, some implementations of the JVM do not optimize the initialization code of an object which is executed by the Application trait. So you should inherit from Application only when your program is relatively simple and single-threaded. — Martin Odersky

He could still remember how breathtakingly beautiful Eleanor was that day. He'd have been content to gaze into her eyes for hours, trying to decide if they were green with gold flecks or gold with green flecks. She had high, finely sculpted cheekbones, soft, flawless skin he'd burned to touch, and lustrous dark braids entwined with gold-threaded ribbons he yearned to unfasten; he'd have bartered his chances of salvation to bury his face in that glossy, perfumed hair, to wind it around his throat and see it spread out on his pillow. He'd watched, mesmerized, as a crystal raindrop trickled toward the sultry curve of her mouth and wanted nothing in his life so much, before or since, as he wanted her. — Sharon Kay Penman

By now, at the end of a sloping alley, we had reached the shores of a vast marsh. Some unknown quality in the sparkling water had stained its whole bed a bright yellow. Green leaves, of such a sour brightness as almost poisoned to behold, floated on the surface of the rush-girdled pools. Weeds like tempting veils of mossy velvet grew beneath in vivid contrast with the soil. Alders and willows hung over the margin. From where we stood a half-submerged path of rough stones, threaded by deep swift channels, crossed to the very centre.
("The Basilisk") — R. Murray Gilchrist

His gaze swept over her, hot and approving, as he lifted her up. "Wrap your legs around me - There. God, yeah, like that - " His voice was a low command, caressing her as much as his hands. "Hold on to me." Then his mouth crushed her own as he pushed her back against the door.
She threaded her hands into his hair as he thrust deep inside of her. He made a rough sound of sheer male pleasure, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as she rocked into him. Again he thrust, slowly at first, teasing until she was begging. It was glorious torment, hot and demanding, just like the man kissing her. — Jill Shalvis

Love is such a wild and reckless creature. It cannot be planned or threaded. It cannot be controlled. Love can coexist with Fate, or it can undo it. Love is the only thing more powerful than Fate. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

But I trust in my faith that we are descendants of rectitude. That each of us, no matter how bad we may think ourselves to be, the core lining of us is threaded in holy fibers. — E.K. Blair

To me the mountain mass lies nobly mute,
The whences and the whys I don't dispute.
When Nature by and in herself was founded,
In purity the earthen sphere she rounded.
In summit and in gorge did pleasure seek,
And threaded cliff to cliff and peak to peak;
Then did she fashion sloping hills at peace
And gently down into the vale release.
All greens and grows, and to her gay abundance
Your swirling lunacies are sheer redundance. — Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

The world that was the emonation of divine had been reduced to a handful of dust. Thousands of people, all caught in profile looked into their mobile fish tanks. Each face, each car, transporting grief, boredom, rage. Someone in one of these cars was contemplating murder. Someone, rite now, in the privecy of his aquarium, threaded the beads of his suicide through his fingers, praying along the chain like a rosary. Someone begged for help from a God he didnt quite believe in, yet had no one else to appeal to. — Janet Fitch

I'll eat whatever you put in front of me." He grinned uneasily, eyeing the egg. "You'll not toss that at my head, will you?"
"This?" Helena held the light brown egg between thumb and forefinger. "Why would I do that?"
Sven glanced from Hakan to Helena. She cupped the egg and let it roll across her palm.
"Helena." Hakan's voice threaded with warning. "Twould please me greatly to have my eggs cooked this morn."
She gave the egg a small toss and it plopped into her palm intact. "As you wish. — Gina Conkle

Our hero's unreasoning rage was fed by a not unreasonable jealousy. It was clear to him that Zuleika had forgotten his existence. To-day, as soon as he had killed her love, she had shown him how much less to her was his love than the crowd's. And now again it was only the crowd she cared for. He followed with his eyes her long slender figure as she threaded her way in and out of the crowd, sinuously, confidingly, producing a penny from one lad's elbow, a threepenny-bit from between another's neck and collar, half a crown from another's hair, and always repeating in that flute-like voice of hers: Well, this is rather queer! — Max Beerbohm

Ceno's brain, soft and pink with blood - and veined with endless whorls and branches of sapphire threaded through every synapse and neuron, inextricable, snarled, intricate, terrible, fragile and new. — Catherynne M Valente

I threaded my fingers into her hair and kissed her, leaving her no opportunity to think about what we were doing. I wanted her to feel what I felt. To revel in the pull, the attraction. Dammit, I wanted her to undeniably love me. — Katie McGarry

Over the centuries, this interpretation and reinterpretation creates a long chain connecting a writer to all future readers- who frequently read each other as well as the original. Virginia Woolf had a beautiful vision of generations interlinked in this way: of how "minds are threaded together- how any live mind is of the very same stuff as Plato's & Euripides ... It is this common mind that binds the whole world together; & all the world is mind." This capacity for living on through readers' inner worlds over long periods of history is what makes a book like the 'Essays' a true classic. As it is reborn differently in each mind, it also brings those minds together. — Sarah Bakewell

Of jackets that had their sleeves threaded onto two poles cut from an ash tree — Bernard Cornwell

Maya wrapped one leg around him, writhing against him as she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him to her, urging him on.
"Never stop touching me that way," Maya rasped. — Sara Humphreys

ThreadLocal, which allows you to associate a per-thread value with a value-holding object. Thread-Local provides get and set accessormethods that maintain a separate copy of the value for each thread that uses it, so a get returns the most recent value passed to set from the currently executing thread. Thread-local variables are often used to prevent sharing in designs based on mutable Singletons or global variables. For example, a single-threaded application might maintain a global database connection that is initialized at startup to avoid having to pass a Connection to every method. Since JDBC connections may not be thread-safe, a multithreaded application that uses a global connection without additional coordination is not thread-safe either. By using a ThreadLocal to store the JDBC connection, as in ConnectionHolder in Listing 3.10, each thread will have its own connection. Listing — Brian Goetz

Power doesn't just exist. It is threaded through different mechanisms of control. I'm interested in those complexities. But I want to address that in very forthright language and sometimes with images. — Barbara Kruger

Those who first invented and then named the constellations were storytellers. Tracing an imaginary line between a cluster of stars gave them an image and an identity. The stars threaded on that line were like events threaded on a narrative. Imagining the constellations did not of course change the stars, nor did it change the black emptiness that surrounds them. What it changed was the way people read the night sky. — John Berger

Astrid Dane. . . Her long colorless hair was woven back into a braid, and her porcelain skin bled straight into the edges of her tunic. Her entire outfit was fitted to her like armor; the collar of her shirt was high and rigid, guarding her throat, and the tunic itself ran from chin to wrist to waist, less out of a sense of modesty, Kell was sure, than protection. Below a gleaming silver belt, she wore fitted pants that tapered into tall boots (rumor had it that a man once spat at her for refusing to wear a dress; she'd cut off his lips). The only bits of color were the pale blue of her eyes and the greens and reds of the talismans that hung from her neck and wrists and were threaded through her hair. . .
"I smell something sweet," she said. She'd been gazing up at the ceiling. Now her eyes wandered
down and landed on Kell. "Hello, flower boy. — V.E Schwab

The mind, the heart, the womb. Those three are all threaded in a sacred dance. A woman's pelvis is like an hourglass with the capacity to tell time. It both creates and shelters life. When a mother's diet in insufficient, nutrients are pulled from her own teeth and bone. Women are built to be selfless. — Alyson Richman

Are you trivialising the sisterhood if you dye your hair or have your eyebrows threaded? I'd say the answer to that is no. But equally, it's a perfectly valid feminist thing to say there is a certain amount of attention on a woman's appearance, and I don't wish that to be the focus or a distraction. — Louise Mensch

I never closed my eyes and neither did he as I kissed him. His lips parted, his tongue threaded with mine and we agreed he would fight for me.He would chase me.And who knew,he would save me one last time. — Pepper Winters

Tom ran his thumb over the head, circling lightly, unable to resist leaning down to suck the tip into his mouth. Prophet inhaled sharply, threaded his fingers into Tom's hair. He closed his eyes and groaned when Tom stroked in earnest, lifting his hips off the bed in a big cat-like stretch, letting Tom take control of him again. "Think I didn't get enough?" "Think you need sleep." Prophet's eyes opened as he studied Tom's face. "You're going to put me to sleep this way." "Gonna try," Tom told him, his hand pumping Prophet's cock slowly, then faster when the man refused to tear his gaze away. He couldn't read the man's expression, not until his mouth dropped and his eyes glazed. "Yeah, like that." Prophet's voice was hoarse, body tense. His casted hand reached out to hold on to Tom's biceps, the one with the dreamcatcher. Tom caught him staring at it when he came. — S.E. Jakes

Tread lightly, little one." He warned. "You don't want to push me. Not tonight." Her eyes darkened with anger, narrowing as she met his gaze. "Really? And why is that Raj?" ... "I am tired of you thinking you have the right to control me. You are not my boyfriend, and you sure as hell are not my keeper, so from where I stand, you've got no claim on me what so ever. Like the song says, you don't want me for yourself so let me find someone else. It's shit or get off the pot time, Raj. It's now or never, Time to-" She gave a shriek as Raj swung an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair and pulled it aside, freeing the long line of her neck. "Then I choose now," he growled and sank his fangs into the velvet skin of her neck puncturing the fragile walls of her jugular. — D.B. Reynolds

She threaded her fingers through my hair and I nearly whimpered at the feel of them, my eyes rolling to the back of my closed eyes. I clutched her waist tightly, inhaling her breaths as I practically swallowed her beautiful tongue. — Fisher Amelie

My comrades, hardly strangers to pain before now, we all have weathered worse. Some god will grant us an end to this as well. You've threaded the rocks resounding with Scylla's howling rabid dogs, and taken the brunt of the Cyclops' boulders, too. Call up your courage again. Dismiss your grief and fear. A joy it will be one day, perhaps, to remember even this. Through so many hard straits, so many twists and turns our course holds firm for Latium. There Fate holds out a homeland, calm, at peace. There the gods decree the kingdom of Troy will rise again. Bear up. Save your strength for better times to come. — Virgil

Coulda fuckin' told me, little sister," he said quietly. "Would never let you go through all this shit by yourself."
Grabbing my hand, he threaded his large fingers through mine and squeezed. "This is what big brothers are fuckin' here for ... To pick their little sisters up when they fall the fuck down. — Madeline Sheehan

Without delay, from the middle of his (closed) fist every pebble began to pronounce the (Moslem's) profession of faith. Each said, "There is no god" and (each) said, "except Allah"; (each) threaded the pearl of "Ahmad is the Messenger of Allah. — Jalaluddin Rumi

I see some recurring themes: things that feel threaded together, some symbolic references, and songs about some of the big questions, like death. There are a lot of references to weather, too! — Tracy Chapman

He walked back around and faced Prophet for a long moment, before putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing down. "On your knees." His voice sounded husky to his own ears. Rough too, and his throat was thick - with lust, with a million other emotions that only intensified when Prophet sank down as ordered and tugged at Tom's zipper with his teeth. Tom threaded his hand in Prophet's hair and pulled him back. Pulled his own zipper down with his free hand, slowly, exposing his piercings one by one as he freed his cock. "That what you're looking for?" "Yeah, Tommy," Prophet murmured. "Fucking let me." Tom — S.E. Jakes

At the Annexe, at this early hour, I delete you, my darling, my beloved, with your wide soft mouth against my neck. I would rather scrub your bones and place them in the open air, scrub your sternum, labour at your spine, scrub and scrub, with love, each vertebra, as particular as a nose, and lay you in the grass amongst the bluebells. There on your secret triangle of land I would be your most submissive tenant, would lie beside you until rain, wind storms raced, threaded like shoelaces through our missing eyes. — Peter Carey

He couldn't get a grip on his sudden fear: it slipped through the safety bars of his mind and threaded - wormed - into the shadowy pockets where nightmares grew. — Nick Cutter

Rieker threaded her hair behind her ears with his other hands, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "We're different Tiki," he said softly. "We're caught between two worlds and honestly, I don't know which one we belong in. But I do know this - I don't want to be either place without you." He looked deep into her eyes. "I believe we found each other because we're meant to be together. — Kiki Hamilton

The belt slid down her thin hips, and she nervously gripped at it, pulling it up. Short sleeves showed her very thin arms and big delicate elbow joints. Her body was all concave and jerkily fluid lines; it moved with sensitive looseness, loosely threaded together: each movement had a touch of exaggeration , as though some secret power kept springing out. — Elizabeth Bowen

How many years threaded on a needle of blood? Hands slack on lap he sits looking out at the winter dawn with the cancelled eyes of junk. — William S. Burroughs

You've learned that every good lie is threaded with truth and every accepted truth leaks lies. — Dennis Lehane

She laid her palm against his bristled cheek. "You're safe," she whispered.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he growled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
"I was going to save you."
He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. She'd lost her bonnet. She was damn lucky she hadn't lost her life. "You little fool," he rasped in a voice rift with emotion. "You brave little fool. — Lorraine Heath

Just because you didn't torture him doesn't mean you weren't rough, but I know why you did it." I threaded my fingers through his hair. "Thank you for trying to protect me." The barest smile touched his mouth. "I prefer simply killing people who hurt you. Much less complicated that way. — Jeaniene Frost

That was the moment my heart threaded with hers. It was as if someone reached down with a sewing needle and stitched my soul to hers — Tarryn Fisher

They captured in their ramble all the mysteries and magics of a March evening. Very still and mild it was, wrapped in a great, white, brooding silence
a silence which was yet threaded through with many little silvery sounds which you could hear if you hearkened as much with your soul as your ears. The girls wandered down a long pineland aisle that seemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing winter sunset. — L.M. Montgomery

I spent my life folded between the pages of books.
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction. — Tahereh Mafi

That's why I want to speak to you now.
To say: no person, trying to take responsibility for her or his identity, should have to be so alone. There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors. (I make up this strange, angry packet for you, threaded with love.)
I think you thought there was no such place for you, and perhaps there was none then, and perhaps there is none now; but we will have to make it, we who want an end to suffering, who want to change the laws of history, if we are not to give ourselves away. — Adrienne Rich

Just about done here." Kowalski sat cross-legged on the ground. Coiled at his feet was a spool of detonation cord threaded through cubes of C4. "It's just like stringing popcorn." "Remind me not to come over to your house for Christmas." He shrugged. "Christmas is okay. It's Fourth of July that scares most people away." Painter could only imagine. Kowalski plus fireworks. Not a good combination. — James Rollins

they were artists, the three of them. Makers of song, of wood, of threaded patterns. Because they were artists, they had some value that she could not comprehend. Because of that value, the three of them were here, well fed, well housed, and nurtured. — Lois Lowry

And then I roll out, just after midnight on October 3, with that one particular memory, of me and Naomi at Mr. Chow's, threaded through my ribs like a red ribbon. It — Ben H. Winters

I slept all day, face down in the pillow, a comfortable dead-man's float only remotely disturbed by a chill undertow of reality - talk, footsteps, slamming doors - which threaded fitfully through the dark, blood-warm waters of dream. — Donna Tartt

For the entire course of evolution leading from our primitive mammalian forebears of a hundred million years ago to the single lineage that threaded its way to become the first Homo sapiens, the total number of individuals it required might have been one hundred billion. Unknowingly, they all lived and died for us. (21) — Edward O. Wilson

I didn't mean to upset you, Ms. Hamilton," his gaze shifted back to her. "It's a beautiful sight and I thought you'd like to see it." She gasped in delight at the vista before her. Distant purple mountains framed lush green meadows speckled with brown dots of cattle. A silver river threaded through clumps of trees. In the middle of the valley, ranch buildings clustered around a large white house. Elizabeth inhaled crisp air into her lungs... — Debra Holland

There are moments in our lives which, threaded, give us heaven - — Jorie Graham

Hey," I reached out and tapped the hand that rested next to my left leg. "you are
"
The hand that I tapped reached up and clasped mine. I froze as he threaded his finders through mine. "I'm what?"
Beautiful. Kind. Patient. Perfect. I said none of those things. Instead, I stared at his fingers, wondering if he knew he was holding my hand. "You're always so ... ."
His thumb moved over the top of my hand. The balm made his fingers cool and smooth. "What?"
I looked up, and I was immediately snared. His stare, his soft touch along my hand was doing very strange things. I felt hot and dizzy, like I'd been out in the sun all day. All I could think about was how his hand felt on mine. Then, what his hand would feel like on other parts. I shouldn't be thinking that at all.
Aiden was a pure. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I had to kiss Ruthie Henshall once with a cold. It was the final romantic moment in She Loves Me; as we separated, I noticed this arc of glistening mucus threaded between us. — John Gordon Sinclair

An unspoken rivalry threaded their relationship, in which Tiger Lily thought that if she could keep up with him, she could hold tighter to him. It didn't occur to her there was anything in which Peter would want her to fail. But sometimes, I could see that, even for him, she was too fast, too sure-footed, and didn't seem to need him quite enough. — Jodi Lynn Anderson

Self under self, a pile of selves I stand
Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand
Lift the farm like a lid and see
Farm within farm, and in the centre, me. — Norman MacCaig

Chester Stone said nothing. Just stood up and threaded his way by all the furniture and over to the door. Through the reception area and into the corridor and into the elevator. Down eighty-eight floors and back outside, where the bright morning sun hit him in the face like a blow. — Lee Child

God is a thing I think I see in glimmers all over: an enormous and vague warmth I sometimes catch pulsing around me, giving me shivers and making tears prick my eyes; a mysterious and limitless Thing threaded through all the world and refusing to be reduced to a name or a set of rules and instead winding itself through millions of stories, true and made up, connecting all breathing things. And — Emily Henry

Xander stood at the end of the bed, hands on hips, the jacket she'd helped him sew thrown open, a gold-threaded waistcoat glimmering underneath. He was the Regency hero today, but she didn't feel like being saved. — Danika Stone

Her fingers clenched against his shoulder blades. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Do I not?" He threaded his hands gently around her neck. "I'm asking you to make love with me."
That word again. She opened her eyes. "Gareth," she whispered. "Please. Don't. This is hard enough - "
She stopped speaking as his gaze pierced her.
Incredible. Last night had seemed so intimate. And yet it
had been so dark that she had not been able to see anything other than flashes of light, reflecting off the surface
of his skin. Now she could look into his eyes. They were golden-brown. They were not cutting or dismissive. And
even though she could see the desire smolder inside them, there was something else in them that turned her belly to liquid. — Courtney Milan

As dew leaves the cobweb lightly Threaded with stars, Scattering jewels on the fence And the pasture bars; As dawn leaves the dry grass bright And the tangled weeds Bearing a rainbow gem On each of their seeds; So has your love, my lover, Fresh as the dawn, Made me a shining road To travel on, Set every common sight Of tree or stone Delicately alight For me alone. — Sara Teasdale

A man has many lives. Each day we chose the path we would take by our own actions ... the past was what we carried with us, threaded to the future, and we decided whether to keep it close or let it go. Fate was both what we were give and what we made for ourselves. — Alice Hoffman

Josie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced up the hall. "You ready?"
I nodded and we started down the hall and we made it halfway before I did something totally cheesy. I reached between us, found her hand without looking, and threaded my fingers through her.
She looked up, surprise flickering over her expression, but then she smiled, and yeah, that smile was worth it. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

You're wrong, you know," Susan said. "She doesn't belong here. I'm against the death penalty. I don't think the state should be in the business of killing people. I think it's wrong. And it's hypocritical. Mostly, I just think it's mean. Gretchen Lowell ? She is the exception. She deserves to die. If we kill one person, one criminal in the history of the world, it should be her." Susan paused, reconsidering. "And Hitler. Her, and Hitler". Prescott had that shrink look on his face again, passive and unimpressed, and yet somehow judgmental at the same time. Susan continued. "She removed a detective's spleen without anesthesia. She stuck a wire through an old woman's eyeball and then threaded it behind her nose and out through the other eye socket and then she stuck the wire into an outlet."
Prescott raised an eyebrow. "And you're arguing that she's sane? — Chelsea Cain

I'm going to possess you, Charlotte,"
His free hand caressed the flesh of her throat, then threaded into the hair at her nape, pulling the strands there, tipping her head back. Not harshly, but not gently either. "I;m going to take you and claim you and make you beg."
His lips were breaths from hers. Breaths she couldn't count or take.
"The question is, will you passively accept such, or will you possess me right back," he whispered, nearly against her lips. "Take me, claim me? Make me beg? Push from my mind any though that isn't you? — Anne Mallory

If that's all you've got, I'm not too worried," he taunted me. I dipped my hand in the wet sand, grabbing a handful. I slowly raised it above his head threatening to release it. Before I even noticed, he caught my wrist and pulled it back down. Holding my eyes, he delicately threaded his fingers through mine, while the wet sand squished out. The gesture was somehow very intimate and a shiver ran down my spine. The wet sand ran down my arm but I didn't even notice. We stayed like that, hand in hand, facing the ocean for what seemed like hours. — Kristen Day

Don't be upset," he whispered.
"I couldn't stop it from happening," she said in a plaintive voice.
"You weren't supposed to," he said tenderly. "I was playing with you. Teasing you."
"But I wanted it to last longer. It's our wedding night, and it's already over." Pausing, Beatrix added glumly, "At least my part of it is."
Christopher averted his face, but she could see that he was struggling to contain a laugh. When he had mastered himself, he looked down at her with a slight smile and smoothed her hair back from her face. "I can make you ready again."
Beatrix was quiet for a moment as she evaluated her spent nerves and limp body. "I don't think so," she said. "I feel like a wrung-out kitchen mop."
"I promise to make you ready again," he said, his voice threaded with amusement.
"It will take a long time," Beatrix said, still frowning.
Gathering her into his arms, Christopher crushed his mouth over hers. "I can only hope so. — Lisa Kleypas

The more I learned about the world I thought I knew and all the ones I didn't, the more everything threaded together, leading everywhere and nowhere at the same time. — Kami Garcia

She remembered her fingers threaded through his hair and his kisses in places that made her long for him years later. — Whitney Otto

Anyone could buy a green Jaguar, find beauty in a Japanese screen two thousand years old. I would rather be a connoisseur of neglected rivers and flowering mustard and the flush of iridescent pink on an intersection pigeon's charcoal neck. I thought of the vet, warming dinner over a can, and the old woman feeding her pigeons in the intersection behind the Kentucky Fried Chicken. And what about the ladybug man, the blue of his eyes over gray threaded black? There were me and Yvonne, Niki and Paul Trout, maybe even Sergei or Susan D. Valeris, why not? What were any of us but a handful of weeds. Who was to say what our value was? What was the value of four Vietnam vets playing poker every afternoon in front of the Spanish market on Glendale Boulevard, making their moves with a greasy deck missing a queen and a five? Maybe the world depended on them, maybe they were the Fates, or the Graces. Cezanne would have drawn them in charcoal. Van Gogh would have painted himself among them. — Janet Fitch

She looked before she drank. Looking was part of drinking. why waste sensation, she seemed to ask, why waste a single drop that can be pressed out of this ripe, this melting, this adorable world? Then she drank. And the air round her became threaded with sensation. — Virginia Woolf

As Shane threaded between the cars and crossed the lot, all Crystal could do was stare. At the determination in his sexy, powerful stride. At the way those jeans hung on his lean hips and came down around a pair of losely tied brown boots. At the way the breadth of his shoulders pulled the slate blue button-down tight across his chest. Hands in his pockets, he gave her a crooked smile that made her belly flutter and her cheeks heat.
"Hey darlin'," he said as he stepped up on the sidewalk.
"Hi," she said. — Laura Kaye

I had a really good family, Braden, I told him softly, pain I'd been hiding for too long threaded in every word. — Samantha Young

He was dressed in clothes that had clearly never seen the sea. A dark blue suit, accented by a silver cloak, his rich brown hair groomed and threaded with gems to match. A single sapphire sparkled over his right eye. Those eyes, like night lilies caught in moonlight. He used to smell like them, too. Now he smelled like sea breeze and spice, and other things Rhy could not place, from lands he'd never seen — Victoria Schwab

It looked like she held a basketful of woven gold.
Arin leap down the stairs. He strode up to his cousin and seized her arm.
"Arin!"
"What did you do?"
Sarsine jerked away. "What she wanted. Pull yourself together."
But Arin only saw Kestrel as she had been last night before the ball. How her hair had been a spill of low light over his palms. He had threaded desire into those braids, had wanted her to sense it even as he dreaded that she would. He had met her eyes in the mirror, and didn't know, couldn't tell her feelings. He only knew the fire of his own.
"It's just hair," Sarsine said. "It will grow back."
"Yes," said Arin, "but no everything does. — Marie Rutkoski

She watched his throat move, and then, he reached out and touched her face. "You sure are pretty," he said. "It's the stone," she replied immediately. Her skin felt warm; his fingertip touched just the very edge of her mouth. "It's flattering." Adam gently pulled the stone out of her hand and a set it on the floorboards between them. Through his ingers he threaded one of the flyaway hairs by her cheek. "My mother used to say, 'Don't throw compliments away, so long as they're free." HIs face was very earnest. "That one wasn't mean tho cost you anything, Blue." Blue plucked at the hem on her dress, but she didn't look away from him. "I don't know what to say when you say things like that." "You can tell me if you want me to keep saying them." She was torn by the desire to encourage him and the fear of where it would lead. "I like when you say things like that." Adam asked, "But what?" "I didn't say but." "You meant to. I heard it. — Maggie Stiefvater

Life is sometimes to be watched as a retarded bird, uninspired by it. It may indeed be threaded, not as a precision course but as an affirmation of its own undoing. — Dew Platt

Happy as a threaded needle — Joseph O'Connor

The loss is transformative, in good ways and bad, a tangle of change that cannot be threaded into the usual narrative spools ... It's not an emergence from the cocoon, but a tree growing around an obstruction. — Meghan O'Rourke

Patches of hair stuck to his wet cheekbones. His ears were threaded with tiny little wampum earrings, except at the cartilage, where the rings were turquoise. His stubby nose ended abruptly at the bottom of a short bridge. His face tapered with a round chin, a white birthmark under his jaw. He was my favorite picture. He burned into the backs of my eyes. — Rose Christo

You've flowers in you hair," she said. Tender amusement, instead of distaste, threaded her voice.

"That's because they're growing out of my head. — Grace Draven

Clayton," she said softly, her voice threaded with tears, "when Vanessa asked about my accomplishments tonight, I forgot to mention that I do have one. And it's
it's so splendid that it compensates for my lack of all the others."
Stephen and Clayton grinned at each other, neither of them hearing the emotion that clogged her voice. "What splendid accomplishments is that, little one?" Clayton asked.
Her shoulders hunched forward and began to shake. "I made you love me," she whispered brokenly. "Somehow, some way, I actually made you love me. — Judith McNaught

That was the exact moment my heart threaded with hers. It was as if someone reached down with a sewing needle and stitched my soul to hers. How could one woman be so sharp and so vulnerable at the same time? Whatever would happen to her would happen to me. Whatever pain she would feel, I would feel it too. I wanted it - that was the surprising part. Selfish, self centered Caleb Drake loved a girl so much he could already feel himself changing to accommodate her needs.
I fell.
Hard.
For the rest of this life and probably the next.
I wanted her - every last inch of her stubborn, combative, catty heart. — Tarryn Fisher

Mon dieu. I cannot leave without tasting your lips once more."
She read the question in his hooded gaze. She would not let him leave, of course, but allowing him a kiss seemed a reasonable consolation after saving her life. Especially as she wanted it , too. Longed for it.
She put her hand behind his neck, mimicking him, and threaded her fingers through his thick, wavy hair. "Take your kiss, my lord. — Sandra Jones

Nothing - and I mean, really, absolutely nothing - is more extraordinary in Britain than the beauty of the countryside. Nowhere in the world is there a landscape that has been more intensively utilised - more mined, farmed, quarried, covered with cities and clanging factories, threaded with motorways and railway lines - and yet remains so comprehensively and reliably lovely over most of its extent. — Bill Bryson

Consider, O Lover, my throat
white as cigarette paper.
The crushed lavender of my knuckles.
My heart, a dulled needle threaded through
too many patterns. — Cecilia Llompart

Invisible strands of solidarity threaded among strangers who, upon finding out they shared the same religion or nationality, developed an instant affinity. — Elif Shafak

The past was what we carried with us, threaded to the future, and we decided whether to keep it close or let it go. Fate was both what we were given and what we made for ourselves. — Alice Hoffman

I turned around slowly, and looked up at him. He stiffened and sucked in a shallow breath. After a moment, he touched my cheek.
"Such naked pain," he whispered.
I turned my face into his palm and closed my eyes. His fingers threaded into my hair, cupped my head, and brushed the brand. It heated at his touch. His hand tightened at the base of my skull and squeezed, and he raised me slowly to my tiptoes. I opened my eyes and it was my turn to inhale sharply. Not human. Oh, no, not this man.
"Never show it to me again." His face was cold, hard, his voice colder. — Karen Marie Moning

I could not say what creeps and whispers through the branches and down the threaded Road, but I hear it, and I am not afraid. — Catherynne M Valente

That's right." He threaded both hands through her hair to hold her in place. "You like it like this. Dirty and rough, getting fucked by a man who wants you so bad he'll risk all your sharp edges. Who fucking loves your sharp edges. — Kit Rocha

Yells and howls, threaded together layer upon layer, are enmeshed to form that lump. Because of meat. I ate too much meat. The lives of the animals I ate have all lodged there. Blood and flesh, all those butchered bodies are scattered in every nook and cranny, and though the physical remnants were excreted, their lives still stick stubbornly to my insides. — Han Kang

When he threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged her lips to his, she had melted in his arms, crumbled into infinite pieces, and allowed every single one of them to merge into him. Her — Sonali Dev

She reaches down into her bulging tote bag and pulls out a small plastic box with a hinged lid. It contains a round pill box with a threaded lid from which she tips out a vitamin pill, a fish-oil pill, and the enzyme tablet that lets her stomach digest milk. Inside the hinged plastic box she also carries packets of salt, pepper, horseradish, and hand-wipes, a doll size bottle of Tabasco sauce, chlorine pills for treating drinking water, Pepto-Bismol chews, and God knows what else. If you go to a concert, Bina has opera glasses. If you need to sit on the grass, she whips out a towel. Ant traps, a corkscrew, candles and matches, a dog muzzle, a penknife, a tiny aerosol can of freon, a magnifying glass - Landsman has seen everything come out of that overstuffed cowhide at one time or another. — Michael Chabon

Oh, God," Annabelle said feelingly, and turned her face against Hunt's shoulder, as if closing her eyes would make them all disappear. Her ear tingled as Hunt bent to murmur to her, his voice threaded with amusement. "Checkmate. — Lisa Kleypas

purple threaded evening. a torn goddess laying on the roof. milk sky. lavender hued moan against hot asphalt. the thickness of evening presses into your throat. polaroids taped to the ceiling. ivy pouring out of the cracks in the wall. i found my courage buried beneath molding books and forgot to lock the door behind me. the old house never forgets. opened my mouth and a dandelion fell out. reached behind my wisdom teeth and found sopping wet seeds. pulled all of my teeth out just to say i could. he drowned himself in a pill bottle and the orange really brought out his demise. lay me down on a bed of ground spices. there's a song there, i know it. amethyst geode eyes. cracked open. no one saw it coming.
october never loved you.
the moon still doesn't understand that. — Taylor Rhodes

When the music comes, you try to see it shining between your eyes. Like threads stretched taut and the notes as colored beads threaded on. When you get very good, it's as if you can see inside the music, through it. You bring the music alive, bring it into being. As if you're the one composing. — Anna Smaill

What'd he said in the car
he'd meant it. His gaze had been level and direct as he'd spoken. It had been *Julian* talking, her Jules, the one who lived in her bones and her brain and at the base of her spine, the one who was threaded all through her like veins or nerves. — Cassandra Clare

She was wired into my heart. Twisted and kinked and threaded right through. — Carol Rifka Brunt

As long as Nelson was socked into baseball statistics or that guitar or even the rock records that threaded their sound through all the fibers of the house, his occupation of the room down the hall was no more uncomfortable than the persistence of Rabbit's own childhood in an annex of his brain; but when the stuff with hormones and girls and cars and beers began, Harry wanted out of fatherhood. — John Updike

With each step and each turn, we threaded deeper inside a knot, one I feared we'd never work apart. The — Ransom Riggs