Wreathing Quotes & Sayings

Respect your women's intuition (spirit), it never lies — Jo Ann Mason

Net neutrality is such an important principle for the Web and for the Internet. It's how the Internet's operated for all this time. — Megan Smith

I'm agnostic," I told him. "I'd be an atheist, except I believe in hedging my bets. — Lisa Kleypas

The deeper you get into Yoga you realize it is a spiritual practice. It's a journey I'm making. I'm heading that way. — Sting

When your heart truly adores somebody,
your mind perceives a halo on that man's head. — Toba Beta

Music is everything to me. Without music, I wouldnt be here in America now,
and I would have been a completely different person. It made me who I am today. — Yuya Matsushita

He was in old pajama bottoms, with a towel flung over his shoulder, a paintbrush in one hand. There was paint on his bare chest and some in his hair...The black spiraling Marks winding down his torso, like vines wreathing a pillar. — Cassandra Clare

Among the many strange servilities mistaken for pieties, one of the least lovely is that which hopes to flatter God by despising the world, and vilifying human nature. — George Henry Lewes

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with his elegant quickness ...
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin & glaring eyes. — Christopher Smart

Losing someone is the worst feeling. Loss carves out a deep, hollow pocket. There's no magical way to fill it, no medicine or Band-Aid or surgery to cure it. I suppose that over time you get used to it, but the feeling never totally goes away. And the more time you spend on earth, the more pockets you'll collect. But it's part of living. It's life. - Katrina Svensen — Suzanne Selfors

Is it bad luck for the bride to punch the groom before the wedding that's never going to happen? — Joe Pokaski

I won't quit my day job. I like restaurants. I don't do a lot of television, either, even though people come to me with projects all the time. I have to spend time in the kitchen. — Wolfgang Puck

I don't need you because I want to save you. I want to save you because I need you to save me. — Anne L. Parks

Sergei doesn't yearn for love ... he thirsts for domination, and now he has finally achieved it. — Melika Dannese Lux

The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I'll be safe in hell.

Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering heart.

The pretty stuff you're made of
Will crack and crease and dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye.

You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line,
And split your throat on laughter,
And burn your eyes with brine.

You will be frail and musty
With peering, furtive head,
Whilst I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead. — Dorothy Parker

TIDES Every day the sea blue gray green lavender pulls away leaving the harbor's dark-cobbled undercoat slick and rutted and worm-riddled, the gulls walk there among old whalebones, the white spines of fish blink from the strandy stew as the hours tick over; and then far out the faint, sheer line turns, rustling over the slack, the outer bars, over the green-furred flats, over the clam beds, slippery logs, barnacle-studded stones, dragging the shining sheets forward, deepening, pushing, wreathing together wave and seaweed, their piled curvatures spilling over themselves, lapping blue gray green lavender, never resting, not ever but fashioning shore, continent, everything. And here you may find me on almost any morning walking along the shore so light-footed so casual. — Mary Oliver

Or I would be the rain itself, wreathing over the island, mingling in the quiet of moist places, filling its pores with its saturated breaths. And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island's face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. If I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night. There are so many ways I could love this island, if I were the rain. — Richard Nelson

I don't care what the haters and naysayers say. If they make jokes about me, I'll laugh because they'll probably be funny. — Paula Deen

He doesn't love me. He never loved me. All along, he's loved her. — Lauren Oliver

With the smoke of the dead sailor's cigar wreathing around him, Willie passed to thinking about death and life and luck and God. Philosophers are at home with such thoughts, perhaps, but for other people it is actual torture when these concepts--not the words, the realities--break through the crust of daily occurrences and grip the soul. A half hour of such racking meditation can change the ways of a lifetime. — Herman Wouk

The child who is permitted to torment, or destroy, the minutest object in creation, who will wantonly tread upon a worm, or unhumanly pass a pin through the body of a fly, will in all probabiilty, as he increases in years, feel no more compunction at tormenting a fellow-creature, than he did in witnessing the wreathing agonies of a fly. — Laetitia Pilkington

It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing
her own version of resisting. — Lauren Oliver

And the roses - the roses! Rising out of the grass, tangled round the sun-dial, wreathing the tree trunks and hanging from their branches, climbing up the walls and spreading over them with long garlands falling in cascades - they came alive day by day, hour by hour. Fair fresh leaves, and buds - and buds - tiny at first but swelling and working Magic until they burst and uncurled into cups of scent delicately spilling themselves over their brims and filling the garden air. Colin — Frances Hodgson Burnett