Covering Quotes (page 15)
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There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.
Federico Garcia Lorca
A mirror hung between the shelves. Clara stepped in front of it and let her fingers run over the silver roses that covered the frame. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The glass they surrounded was dark, as if the night had spilled onto it. It was misted up, and right where she saw the reflection of her face was the imprint of a hand.
Cornelia Funke
You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"My problems?"Yes.'And you'll give me answers?"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk."Ah, talk . . ....
Mitch Albom
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain. By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff -and ILived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. And from the inside, too, I'd duplicate. Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate: Uncurtaining the night, I'd let dark glass. Hang all the furniture above the grass, And how delightful when a fall of snow. Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so. As to make chair and bed exactly stand. Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
Vladimir Nabokov
Poor William!" said he, "dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp! How much more a murderer, that could destroy such radiant innocence! Poor little fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows...
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
And what an example of the power of dress young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar;—it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have fixed his station in society. But now he was enveloped in the old calico robes, that had grown yellow in the same service; he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a parish child—the orphan of a workhouse—the humble,...
Charles Dickens