Threaded Quotes

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there-are-moments-in-our-lives-which-threaded-give-us-heaven-jorie-graham
past-was-what-we-carried-with-us-threaded-to-future-we-decided-whether-to-keep-it-close-let-it-go-alice-hoffman
a-slow-smile-spread-across-his-lips-he-threaded-his-fingers-through-mine-i-can-see-why-i-like-you-jus-accardo
whats-endlessly-complicated-in-thinking-about-womens-gymnastics-is-way-that-vulnerability-power-are-threaded-through-sport-meghan-orourke
she-remembered-her-fingers-threaded-through-his-hair-his-kisses-in-places-that-made-her-long-for-him-years-later-whitney-otto
upon-descending-our-threaded-words-on-web-by-steep-hazardous-precipice-readers-requires-constant-review-msconcerned
consider-o-lover-my-throat-white-as-cigarette-paper-the-crushed-lavender-my-knuckles-my-heart-dulled-needle-threaded-through-too-many-patterns-cecilia-llompart
consider-o-lover-my-throat-white-as-cigarette-paper-the-crushed-lavender-my-knucklesmy-heart-dulled-needle-threaded-through-too-many-patterns-cecilia-llompart
i-had-to-kiss-ruthie-henshall-once-with-cold-it-was-final-romantic-moment-in-she-loves-me-as-we-separated-i-noticed-this-arc-glistening-mucus-john-gordon-sinclair
bolivian-women-sewed-their-lips-shut-for-days-they-threaded-needles-through-their-skin-to-stop-their-speech-to-show-what-good-speaking-had-done-them-leslie-jamison
loss-is-transformative-in-good-ways-bad-tangle-change-that-cannot-be-threaded-into-usual-narrative-spools-its-not-emergence-from-cocoon-but-tree-growing-around-obstruction-meghan
maya-wrapped-one-leg-around-him-writhing-against-him-as-she-threaded-her-fingers-through-his-hair-held-him-to-her-urging-him-on-never-stop-touching-me-that-way-maya-rasped-sara-h
i-see-some-recurring-themes-things-that-feel-threaded-together-some-symbolic-references-songs-about-some-big-questions-like-death-there-are-lot-tracy-chapman
You'll want all your strength for the wedding night." I cannot think why I should need strength, " she said, ignoring a host of spine-tingling images rising in her mind's eye. "All I have to do is lie there." "Naked, " he said grimly. "Truly?" She shot him a glance from under her lashes. "Well, if I must, I must, for you have the advantage of experience in these matters. Still, I do wish you'd told me sooner. I should not have put the modiste to so much trouble about the negligee." "The what?" "It was ghastly expensive, " she said, "but the silk is as fine as gossamer, and the eyelet work about the neckline is exquisite. Aunt Louisa was horrified. She said only Cyprians wear such things, and it leaves nothing to the imagination." Jessica heard him suck in his breath, felt the muscular thigh tense against hers. "But if it were left to Aunt Louisa, " she went on, "I should be covered from my chin to my toes in thick cotton ruffled with monstrosities with little bows and rosebuds. Which is absurd, when an evening gown reveals far more, not to mention-" "What color?" he asked. His low voice had roughened. "Wine red, " she said, "With narrow black ribbons threaded through the neckline. Here." She traced a plunging U over her bosom. "And there's the loveliest openwork over my... well, here." She drew her finger over the curve of her breast a bare inch above the nipple. "And openwork on the right side of the skirt. From here" -she pointed to her hip-"down to the hem. And I bought-" "Jess." Her name was a strangled whisper. "-slippers to match, " she continued." Black mules with-" "Jess." In one furious flurry of motion he threw down the reins and hauled her into his lap.

Loretta Chase
youll-want-all-your-strength-for-wedding-night-i-cannot-think-why-i-should-need-strength-she-said-ignoring-host-spinetingling-images-rising-in-her-minds-eye-all-i-have-to-do-is-l
I feel to that the gap between my new life in New York and the situation at home in Africa is stretching into a gulf, as Zimbabwe spirals downwards into a violent dictatorship. My head bulges with the effort to contain both worlds. When I am back in New York, Africa immediately seems fantastical - a wildly plumaged bird, as exotic as it is unlikely. Most of us struggle in life to maintain the illusion of control, but in Africa that illusion is almost impossible to maintain. I always have the sense there that there is no equilibrium, that everything perpetually teeters on the brink of some dramatic change, that society constantly stands poised for some spasm, some tsunami in which you can do nothing but hope to bob up to the surface and not be sucked out into a dark and hungry sea. The origin of my permanent sense of unease, my general foreboding, is probably the fact that I have lived through just such change, such a sudden and violent upending of value systems. In my part of Africa, death is never far away. With more Zimbabweans dying in their early thirties now, mortality has a seat at every table. The urgent, tugging winds themselves seem to whisper the message, memento mori, you too shall die. In Africa, you do not view death from the auditorium of life, as a spectator, but from the edge of the stage, waiting only for your cue. You feel perishable, temporary, transient. You feel mortal. Maybe that is why you seem to live more vividly in Africa. The drama of life there is amplified by its constant proximity to death. That's what infuses it with tension. It is the essence of its tragedy too. People love harder there. Love is the way that life forgets that it is terminal. Love is life's alibi in the face of death. For me, the illusion of control is much easier to maintain in England or America. In this temperate world, I feel more secure, as if change will only happen incrementally, in manageable, finely calibrated, bite-sized portions. There is a sense of continuity threaded through it all: the anchor of history, the tangible presence of antiquity, of buildings, of institutions. You live in the expectation of reaching old age. At least you used to. But on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, those two states of mind converge. Suddenly it feels like I am back in Africa, where things can be taken away from you at random, in a single violent stroke, as quick as the whip of a snake's head. Where tumult is raised with an abruptness that is as breathtaking as the violence itself.

Peter Godwin
i-feel-to-that-gap-between-my-new-life-in-new-york-situation-at-home-in-africa-is-stretching-into-gulf-as-zimbabwe-spirals-downwards-into-violent-dictatorship-my-head-bulges-with
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