I think probably one of the important things that mesmerize me is my RELATIONSHIP. Here comes the way how I narrate it as, The fabric enhances the beauty of the soul. I feel, The fabric of love, which will nurture from the depth of the heart & The fabric of celebration, which will cherish the occasion with wine and sweet words & The fabric of memories, which will mesmerizes our age and experience. I had all this desire to pursue my passion as, The fabric of wedding that embraces the fragrance of bliss in two souls & The fabric of tradition that exhibits beliefs and culture from one generation to the next & The fabric of surprise that fills the excitement in the ravishing family. It's all about, A feel that nourish my emotions towards my heart & A feel that endeavors my passion towards my life & It's THE FABRIC OF MY RELATIONSHIP that stays forever and enhances for generations.
They were beyond the present, outside time, with no memories and no future. There was nothing but obliterating sensation, thrilling and swelling, and the sound of fabric on fabric and skin on fabric as their limbs slid across each other in this restless, sensuous wrestling... They moved closer, deeper and then, for seconds on end, everything stopped. Instead of an ecstatic frenzy, there was stillness. They were stilled not by the astonishing fact of arrival, but by an awed sense of return - they were face to face in the gloom, staring into what little they could see of each other's eyes, and now it was the impersonal that dropped away.
The decisions we make, individually and personally, become the fabric of our lives. That fabric will be beautiful or ugly according to the threads of which it is woven. I wish to say particularly to the young men who are here that you cannot indulge in any unbecoming behavior without injury to the beauty of the fabric of your lives. Immoral acts of any kind will introduce an ugly thread. Dishonesty of any kind will create a blemish. Foul and profane language will rob the pattern of its beauty.
Gordon B. Hinckley
A vast engine of wonderful delicacy and intricacy, a machine that is like the tools of the Titans put in your hands. This machinery, in its external fabric so massive and so exquisitely adjusted, and in its internal fabric making new categories of thought, new ways of thinking about life.
Having an answer is a comfort. It's when you start asking questions and those questions pull threads in the larger fabric, you're forced to wonder what you're left with. And for people of any age, it's scary to think the fabric of the universe - or the universe as you've always believed it existed - can just unwind, you know?
Knowledge is a continuous fabric, in which ideas are connected to other ideas. Reason-free zones, in which people can assert arbitrary beliefs safe from ordinary standards of evaluation, can only corrupt this fabric, just as a contradiction can corrupt a system of logic, allowing falsehoods to proliferate through it.
Delilah then said to Samson, Until now, you have been making a fool of me and lying to me. Tell me how you can be tied. He replied, If you weave the seven braids of my head into the fabric on the loom and tighten it with the pin, I'll become as weak as any other man. So while he was sleeping, Delilah took the seven braids of his head, wove them into the fabric
The great ecosystems are like complex tapestries - a million complicated threads, interwoven, make up the whole picture. Nature can cope with small rents in the fabric; it can even, after a time, cope with major disasters like floods, fires, and earthquakes. What nature cannot cope with is the steady undermining of its fabric by the activities of man.
When you think about it, the Big Bang's a big like school, isn't it?... Well, I mean to say, one day we'll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and driving instructors and hotel managers - the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school. -Ruprecht
Whenever it shows itself - hope, that is - hands from the crowded streets reach for it with such violent urgency because of the fear that they may never see it again. They do so without knowing that their desperation frightens hope away. Hope also doesn't know that it is its scarcity. that causes the crowd to lunge at it, shredding its robe. And as it struggles to escape, the fabric scraps land in the hands of some but last only for hours, a day, days, a week, weeks, depending on how much fabric each hand is able to catch.
As crude a weapon as the cave man's club, the chemical barrage has been hurled against the fabric of life - a fabric on the one hand delicate and destructible, on the other miraculously tough and resilient, and capable of striking back in unexpected ways. These extraordinary capacities of life have been ignored by the practitioners of chemical control who have brought to their task no "high-minded orientation," no humility before the vast forces with which they tamper.
Painting for me is like a fabric, all of a piece and uniform, with one set of threads as the representational, esthetic element, and the cross-threads as the technical, architectural, or abstract element. These threads are interdependent and complementary, and if one set is lacking the fabric does not exist. A picture with no representational purpose is to my mind always an incomplete technical exercise, for the only purpose of any picture is to achieve representation.
We are but frail human beings holding onto life but by a single thread, waiting ever more for the seam to unravel to our reality, pulling the fabric of our lifestyle apart, and sending us to the floor, resembling in texture and color of what we once were, but no longer the shape of our former self.At this moment, we are at our most vulnerable, but those that can pick themselves up and carry on, can resew themselves together into a stronger fabric. They reshape themselves into a more useable form, with stronger seams, aware of their own weaknesses, and are able to progress and compensate for them. So, at that moment it is your decision, are you a pile of scrap, waiting to be laid aside, or do you wish to weave yourself together, progress forward, and create a beautiful tapestry of your own life?
Back in grade school, my shrinks tried to channel my viciousness into a constructive outlet, so I cut things with scissors. Heavy, cheap fabrics Diane bought by the bolt. I sliced through them with old metal shears going up and down: hateyouhateyouhateyou. The soft growl of the fabrics as I sliced it apart, and that perfect last moment, when your thumb is getting sore and your shoulders hurt from hunching and cut, cut, cut... free, the fabric now swaying in two pieces in your hands, a curtain parted. And then what? That's how I felt now, like I'd been sawing away at something and come to the end and here I was by myself again, in my small house with no job, no family, and I was holding two ends of fabric and didn't know what to do next.