Famous Quotes & Sayings

Quotes & Sayings About Weaving Webs

Enjoy reading and share 6 famous quotes about Weaving Webs with everyone.

Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Google+ Pinterest Share on Linkedin

Top Weaving Webs Quotes

Weaving Webs Quotes By Michael Offutt

Vibrations caused by powerful turbines stirred Kathy from a dream centered around a funeral. Her eyes flicked open, face dry, and she had no idea where she was. In her dream, she saw crystalline silver spiders again, weaving their way through the graveyard, leaving trails of silver webs over corpses, binding them for some unknown purpose in the cold dark earth. — Michael Offutt

Weaving Webs Quotes By Shantaye Brown

Does she think she can keep fucking with my head and weaving her devious webs thinking I'll always get caught in them? She's toying with my lust for her, my obsession, and I keep letting her. — Shantaye Brown

Weaving Webs Quotes By J.R.R. Tolkien

Lazy Lob and crazy Cob
are weaving webs to wind me.
I am far more sweet than other meat,
but still they cannot find me!
Here am I, naughty little fly;
you are fat and lazy.
You cannot trap me, though you try,
in your cobwebs crazy. — J.R.R. Tolkien

Weaving Webs Quotes By Dean Koontz

The chill, like scurrying spiders, worked deeper into him, weaving webs of ice in the hollows of his bones. — Dean Koontz

Weaving Webs Quotes By Charles Stross

Money. An instrument invented in ancient temple complexes, to keep track of debt: counters that acquired mobility and went a-walking, weaving webs of debt into vast and intricate meshes, enslaving and directing the labor of billions in service of the obligations created by its issuance ... Money: a shadow play projected on the walls of our minds by the dark sun of debt. — Charles Stross

Weaving Webs Quotes By Sylvia Plath

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