Threadbare Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
yes-threadbare-seem-his-songs-to-lettered-ken-they-were-worn-threadbare-next-hearts-men
but-sometimes-everything-i-writewith-threadbare-art-my-eyeseems-snapshot-robert-lowell
acting-doesnt-have-to-be-threadbare-misery-all-time
seldom-do-people-discern-eloquence-under-threadbare-cloak-juvenal
how-many-threadbare-souls-are-to-be-found-under-silken-cloaks-gowns-thomas-brooks
truth-is-not-threadbare-as-speech-because-fewer-people-can-make-use-it-luc-de-clapiers
to-dress-up-today-in-threadbare-garments-yesterday-is-to-create-impoverished-tomorrow-craig-d-lounsbrough
this-age-thinks-better-of-a-gilded-fool-than-of-a-threadbare-saint-in-wisdoms-school
my-soul-is-like-my-wornout-van-gogh-tshirt-threadbare-full-holes-j-matthew-nespoli
my-childhood-grew-thin-flat-paperlike-it-was-tired-threadbare-in-low-moments-it-didnt-look-like-it-would-last-until-i-was-grown-up-tove-ditlevsen
when-old-creeds-are-threadbare-worn-through-and-all-too-narrow-for-broadening-soul-give-me-fine-firm-texture-new-fair-beautiful-whole-henry-ward-beecher
if-we-rub-fabric-too-often-it-will-quickly-grow-threadbare-nobus-words-had-rasped-against-me-much-i-could-no-longer-maintain-that-finely-lacquered-surface-mameha-had-always-couns
publishers-just-want-you-to-write-same-book-over-over-again-but-why-would-i-want-to-do-that-it-would-be-like-putting-on-threadbare-dressing-gown-day-after-day
every-woman-that-dies-loses-her-baby-on-threadbare-cot-in-heart-uganda-while-her-sisters-on-other-side-world-enjoy-first-class-care-is-threat-to-our-collective-humanity
a-little-man-in-threadbare-coat-spoke-up-for-poor-as-if-he-really-knew-what-he-was-talking-about-the-women-with-flowers-threw-them-down-for-him-thats-robert-speer-one-said-someth
if-honor-be-your-clothing-the-suit-will-last-a-lifetime-but-if-clothing-be-your-honor-it-will-soon-be-worn-threadbare
and if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together. Yes, novels; for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding - joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? I cannot approve of it. Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans. Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body. Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers. And while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens - there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. 'I am no novel-reader - I seldom look into novels - Do not imagine that I often read novels - It is really very well for a novel.' Such is the common cant. 'And what are you reading, Miss - ?' 'Oh! It is only a novel!' replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. 'It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda'; or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language. Now, had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of the Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly would she have produced the book, and told its name; though the chances must be against her being occupied by any part of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that could endure it.

Jane Austen
if-rainy-morning-deprived-them-other-enjoyments-they-were-still-resolute-in-meeting-in-defiance-wet-dirt-shut-themselves-up-to-read-novels-together-yes-novels-for-i-will-not-adop
You're a pirate?' Obviously. Still, hard to believe. He pressed forward, forcing on her a series of blows meant to test her strength and will. She parried and blocked his every move with an aptitude that amazed. 'Aye. A pirate, and captain of the Sea Sprite, ' she boasted, a wry smile upon her full lips. Indeed, she appeared very much a pirate in her men's garb-a threadbare, brown suit with overly long sleeves she'd had to roll up. Her ebony hair had been pulled back in a queue and was half hidden beneath a rumpled tricorn. Also, like her men, was her look of desperation and the grim cast to her countenance that bespoke of a hard existence. 'We offered you quarter, ' she said as she evaded his thrust with ease. 'Why didn't you surrender? You had to know we outnumbered you.' He didn't answer. In all honesty, he'd thought they could defeat the pirates, if not with cannon fire, then with skill. After hearing of all the pirate attacks of late, they'd hired on additional hands, men who could fight. If it hadn't been for the damn illness... 'It's not too late. You can save what's left of your crew. Surrender now, Captain Glanville, and we'll see that your men are ransomed back.' A wicked gleam brightened her eyes as if victory would soon be hers. He should do as she asked. It would be the sensible thing, but pride kept him from saying the words. Not yet. He still had another opponent to defeat, and so far she hadn't been an easy one to overcome. Despite his steady attack, she kept her muscles relaxed, her balance sure. Her attention followed his movements no matter how small, adjusting her stance, looking for weaknesses. 'How do you know I'm Captain Glanville?' When work was at hand, he didn't dress any differently than his men. 'I know much about you.' Stepping clear of two men battling to their left, she blocked his sword with her own and lunged with her dagger. He jumped from the blade, avoiding injury by the barest inch. This one relied on speed and accuracy rather than power. Smart woman. 'What do you want from us?' he asked, launching an attack of his own, this time with so much force and speed, she had no choice but to retreat until her back came up against the railing. 'We only just left London four days ago. Our cargo is mainly iron and ale.' Her gaze sharpened even as her expression became strained. His assault was wearing her down. 'I want the Ruby Cross.' How the hell did she know he had the cross? And did she believe he'd simply hand it over? Hand over a priceless antiquity of the Knights Templar? Absurd. He swung his sword all the harder. The clang of steel rang through the air. Her reactions slowed, and her arms trembled. He made a final cut, putting all his strength behind the blow, and knocked her sword from her hand. Triumph surged through his veins. She attempted to slash out with her dagger. He grabbed her arm before her blade could reach him and hauled her close, their faces nose to nose. 'You'll never take the cross from me, ' he vowed as he towered over her, his grip strong. The point of a sword touched his back. Thomas tensed, he swore beneath his breath, self-disgust heavy in his chest. The distraction of this one woman had sealed his fate. Bloody hell.

Tamara Hughes
youre-pirate-obviously-still-hard-to-believe-he-pressed-forward-forcing-on-her-series-blows-meant-to-test-her-strength-will-she-parried-blocked-his-every-move-with-aptitude-that-
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