Matchstick Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Matchstick. Here they are! All 100 of them:

You don’t get it, do you?" I said. “It’s not a question of ‘what then’. Some people get a kick out of reading railroad timetables and that’s all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what’s wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
I felt the kindliness of the moss, which is all over everywhere once you get out of the made world. God’s flooring. All the kinds, pillowy, pin-cushiony, shag carpet. Gray sticks of moss with red heads like matchsticks. Some tiny dead part of me woke up to the moss and said, Man. Where you been.
Barbara Kingsolver (Demon Copperhead)
For God's sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?
Lisa Kleypas (Seduce Me at Sunrise (The Hathaways, #2))
Let death find us as we are building up our matchstick protests against its waves.
Alain de Botton (The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work)
Afternoon experience: autographing exposed legs, outstretched in lines like matchsticks. Afternoon epiphany: Those with smooth, hairless legs would soon lose all evidence of my contact when the sweat causes the ink from the marker to run. I am ephemeral. Skepticism would be the reaction to those with thick leg hair, as their curls frazzle the lines of my name outward illegibly. Among the scaly-legged, I flaked off immediately, like I never was at all.
Benson Bruno (A Story that Talks About Talking is Like Chatter to Chattering Teeth, and Every Set of Dentures can Attest to the Fact that No . . .)
This poem is very long So long, in fact, that your attention span May be stretched to its very limits But that’s okay It’s what’s so special about poetry See, poetry takes time We live in a time Call it our culture or society It doesn’t matter to me cause neither one rhymes A time where most people don’t want to listen Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fire Waiting until we can speak No patience to listen But this poem is long It’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poem You could’ve done any number of other wonderful things You could’ve called your father Call your father You could be writing a postcard right now Write a postcard When was the last time you wrote a postcard? You could be outside You’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunset Watch the sun rise Maybe you could’ve written your own poem A better poem You could have played a tune or sung a song You could have met your neighbor And memorized their name Memorize the name of your neighbor You could’ve drawn a picture (Or, at least, colored one in) You could’ve started a book Or finished a prayer You could’ve talked to God Pray When was the last time you prayed? Really prayed? This is a long poem So long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with it When was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute? Or told them that you love them? Tell your friends you love them …no, I mean it, tell them Say, I love you Say, you make life worth living Because that, is what friends do Of all of the wonderful things that you could’ve done During this very, very long poem You could have connected Maybe you are connecting Maybe we’re connecting See, I believe that the only things that really matter In the grand scheme of life are God and people And if people are made in the image of God Then when you spend your time with people It’s never wasted And in this very long poem I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does: Make things simpler We don’t need poems to make things more complicated We have each other for that We need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matter To take time A long time To be alive for the sake of someone else for a single moment Or for many moments Cause we need each other To hold the hands of a broken person All you have to do is meet a person Shake their hand Look in their eyes They are you We are all broken together But these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a mess We just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimes To sit and listen to a very long poem A story of a life The joy of a friend and the grief of friend To hold and be held And be quiet So, pray Write a postcard Call your parents and forgive them and then thank them Turn off the TV Create art as best as you can Share as much as possible, especially money Tell someone about a very long poem you once heard And how afterward it brought you to them
Colleen Hoover (This Girl (Slammed, #3))
Sometimes, it feels like he’s trying to rebuild our lives out of matchsticks. And I do love him for that. But loving someone isn’t the same thing as understanding them.
Kimberly McCreight (The Outliers)
I was unfixable, I saw that my innocence didn’t go anywhere. Like the tiny flame on the end of a matchstick, it may have flickered, but it didn’t die. I found my inherent goodness again. I found the part of me that couldn’t be harmed by the people who found a way to harm everything else about me. Gradually, I began to reparent myself. By loving and caring for my inner
Teal Swan (Shadows Before Dawn: Finding the Light of Self-Love through Your Darkest Times)
Based on this shaky matchstick foundation, I built a skyscraper of supposition.
Stephen King (Fairy Tale)
Some people get a kick out of reading railway timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?" "Kind of like a hobby?" she said, amused. "Yeah I guess you could call it a hobby. Most normal people would call it friendship or love or something, but if you want to call it a hobby, that's OK too.
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
It feels like ancient history," said Naoko. But anyhow, sorry about last night. I don't know, I was a bundle of nerves. I really shouldn't have done that after you came here all the way from Tokyo." "Never mind," I said. "Both of us have a lot of feelings we need to get out in the open. So if you want to take those feelings and smash somebody with them, smash me. Then we can understand each other better." "So if you understand me better, what then?" "You don't get it, do you?" I said. "It's not a question of 'what then.' Some people get a kick out of reading railroad timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
When a Bird is alive it eats ants. When the Bird has died ...ants eat it. One tree can be made into millions of matchsticks...but only one matchstick is need to burn a million trees! Circumstances can change at any time Don't Devalue or Hurt anyone in this life... You may be powerful today but TIME is more powerful than You!!
Ege Avcı
The Mania Speaks You clumsy bootlegger. Little daffodil. I watered you with an ocean and you plucked one little vein? Downed a couple bottles of pills and got yourself carted off to the ER? I gifted you the will of gunpowder, a matchstick tongue, and all you managed was a shredded sweater and a police warning? You should be legend by now. Girl in an orange jumpsuit, a headline. I built you from the purest napalm, fed you wine and bourbon. Preened you in the dark, hammered lullabies into your thin skull. I painted over the walls, wrote the poems. I shook your goddamn boots. Now you want out? Think you’ll wrestle me out of you with prescriptions? A good man’s good love and some breathing exercises? You think I can’t tame that? I always come home. Always. Ravenous. Loaded. You know better than anybody: I’m bigger than God.
Jeanann Verlee (Said The Manic To The Muse)
O exhilaration, I thought. To be lifted up through the eye of chaos, to balance breath-stopped on the edge of nothing. And the plunge that would follow, the shattering of my matchstick body to smithereens, the bones flying free as foam, the heart finally released.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (The Mistress of Spices)
Don't get smart or sarcastic He snaps back just like elastic Spare us the theatrics and the verbal gymnastics We break wise guys just like matchsticks
Elvis Costello
Our brain is a circuit board with neurons and terminals ready to be wired. We are born free, then programmed to obey our parents, to tell the truth, pass exams, pursue and achieve, love and propagate, age and fade unfulfilled and uncertain what it has all been for. We swallow the operating system with our mother's milk and sleepwalk into the forest of consumer illusion craving shoes, houses, cars, magazines, experiences that endorse our preconceived dreams and opinions. We grow into our parents. We becomes clones, robots, matchstick men thinking and saying the same, feeling the same, behaving the same, appreciating in books and films and art shows those things we already recognize and understand.
Chloe Thurlow (Girl Trade)
There was another crashing sound, this time coming from directly overhead, and a chorus of excited bellows from the onlookers caused the walls to tremble. Above it all, the innkeeper could be heard complaining shrilly that his building would soon be reduced to matchsticks. “Mr. Hunt,” Lillian exclaimed, “I do wish that you would try to be of some use to Lord Westcliff!” Hunt’s brows lifted into mocking crescents. “You don’t actually fear that St. Vincent is getting the better of him?” “The question is not whether I have sufficient confidence in Lord Westcliff’s fighting ability,” Lillian replied impatiently. “The fact is, I have too much confidence in it. And I would rather not have to bear witness at a murder trial on top of everything else.” “You have a point.” Standing, Hunt refolded his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. He headed to the stairs with a short sigh, grumbling, “I’ve spent most of the day trying to stop him from killing people.
Lisa Kleypas (It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2))
When you are good at despising little things, you are likely to throw away the tiny match stick that has the potential of putting the entire forest on fire! Little things do carry heavy potentials!
Israelmore Ayivor (Daily Drive 365)
Once upon a teenage mistake, Ash thought he was in forever love, the kind of love that started wars and built the Taj Mahal. He knew at that moment how wrong he'd been. Without his even realizing it, Ash had fallen for Fee, harder and faster than he'd ever fallen for anyone. This was the love he'd thought he'd had before, but there was no real comparison between the two. It was like putting a matchstick beside a raging inferno—one of them would be completely consumed.
Piper Vaughn (The Party Boy's Guide to Dating a Geek (Clumsy Cupid Guidebooks, #1))
For half an hour they poked about in a happy dusty dream, through the junk and broken furniture and ornaments. It was like reading the story of somebody’s life, Jane thought, as she gazed at the tiny matchstick masts of the ship sailing motionless forever in the green glass bottle. All these things had been used once, had been part of every day in the house below. Someone has slept on the bed, anxiously watched the minutes on the clock, pounced joyfully on each magazine as it arrived. But those people were long dead, or gone away, and now the oddments of their lives were piled up here, forgotten. She found herself feeling rather sad.
Susan Cooper (Over Sea, Under Stone (The Dark is Rising, #1))
i want to love you with simple, like a bare singular matchstick. one stroke to ignite with no words spoken by the heated flames of the timber of crimsoned scarlet fire. as it crackles with close separation entangled with the intimacy of firefly ashes choosing to enchantingly dance around in abundant joy. hazily whistling into the glorified heavens making the ebony soot dissolve into the cool crisp air. yearning to be the explosion who burns through your bones as you visualize red ecstasy of a provoked kindle.
Zuky rose Leigh
What does she see in him?’ Cork asked. ‘He looks like a burned matchstick.
William Kent Krueger (Boundary Waters (Cork O'Connor, #2))
Joan Finch is tall and sickly thin. She is wearing a tight black dress that accentuates her bony legs, the crookedness of her body. She looks like a burnt matchstick.
Jerrod Edson (A Place of Pretty Flowers)
He who relies only on the intellect must walk with crutches, even though they be set with precious stones, and at the first breath of fate will break like matchsticks.
Ernst Wiechert (Tidings: A Novel)
shall be able to kindle the same in you. But one cannot light a piece of stone. Only those of you who have some oil and wick in them will light their lamp with this matchstick of mine.
Mahatma Gandhi (Bhagavad Gita According to Gandhi)
I packed my small suitcase in a haze of nostalgia for the present stream I was just about to divert, a handful of days in a world of my own making, fragile as a temple constructed with wooden matchsticks.
Patti Smith (M Train)
To Ejinar that cannonball was a monster with a will of its own. It showed him what war was: not a battery that exploded and sent matchstick soldiers fleeing, but a dragon that breathed hot fire on his naked heart.
Carsten Jensen (We, the Drowned)
He pauses, swipes a matchstick on a column. It bursts into flame. “I tell you, you must take risks in my studio.” He finds a cigarette behind his ear and lights it. “I tell you not to be timid. I tell you to make the choices, make the mistakes, big, terrible, reckless mistakes, really screw it all up. I tell you it is the only way.” An affirmative murmur. “I say this, yes, but I still see so many of you afraid to cut in.” He begins to pace, slowly like a wolf, which is definitely his mirror animal. “I see what you are doing. When you leave yesterday, I go from work to work. You feel like Rambo maybe with the drills, the saws. You make lots of noise, lots of dust, but very few of you have found even this much”—he pinches two fingers together—“of your sculptures. Today this changes.” He walks over to a short blond-haired girl. “May I, Melinda?” “Please,
Jandy Nelson (I'll Give You the Sun)
I say you're in hell when you don't give to someone who needs, because you can't bear to have less. What you are giving away then is your own soul. You have to care for each other or you walk on cinders, a matchstick ready to be struck.
Joe Hill (The Fireman)
I say you’re in hell when you don’t give to someone who needs, because you can’t bear to have less. What you are giving away then is your own soul. You have to care for each other or you walk on cinders, a matchstick ready to be struck.
Joe Hill (The Fireman)
Some people get a kick out of reading railway timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you.
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
Only later I felt that poetry is like feeling another person lying next to you in the dark. Do you believe in poetry, in the spirit of poetry? I could see poetry in ballads, in the picture of the cathedral on the back of the postcard that my father sent my mother from London, in glaciers, peaks of mountains, river dust, Ian McEwan's covers of his books, cheap thrillers. Running gave me a gravitational pull. Running was my mother love. I was barefoot. There I was dressed in white. Matchstick legs. Hair standing up. I did not feel like a zero. I did not feel like a lost oar, unloved and unwanted, like a plant that needed water. A fleet of paper ships that needed to be mourned. I often felt homesick for the country of my mother.
Abigail George (Sleeping Under Kitchen Tables in the Northern Areas (The Broken Family, #1))
The little cathedral made with matchsticks is attracted to the earth, so to make a comparison the big cathedral should be attracted to an even bigger earth. Too bad. A bigger earth would attract it even more, and the sticks would break even more surely!
Richard P. Feynman (The Character of Physical Law (Penguin Press Science))
Our little party Got under way as best it could. The twigs Unclenched, the greedy rosebuds caked with smut. The ill-knit creatures, now in hues Of sunstroke, mulberry, white of clown, Yellow of bile, bruise-blacks-and-blues, Stumped outward, waving matchstick arms, Colliding, poking, hurt, in tears
James Merrill (Collected Poems)
Mia had stacked them neatly inside: half portraits, half wishes, caught on paper. Each of the Richardsons, as Mrs. Richardson carefully laid the photos out on the table in a line, knew which was meant for them, recognized it instantly, as they might have recognized their own faces. To the others it was just another photo, but to them it was unbearably intimate, like catching a glimpse of your own naked body in a mirror. A sheet of paper sliced into strips, thin as matchsticks, woven to form a net. Suspended in its mesh: a rounded, heavy stone. The text had been sliced to unreadable bits, but Lexie recognized the pale pink of it
Celeste Ng (Little Fires Everywhere)
But only if you swear not to tell them.” David nodded. “But my mom doesn’t let me swear. She said let my yes be yes and my no
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Faith is like a muscle. If you didn’t use it, you lose it.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
To me, that’s what’s important at Christmas. People. Family. Friends.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
The prayers he’d prayed after the match stories. They came true.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Afterward, he places the chest film on the light panel outside the door. Kate's ribs seem as thin as matchsticks, and there is a large gray blot just off the center. My knees go weak, and I find myself grabbing on to Brian's arm. "It's a tumor. The cancer's metastasized." The doctor puts his hand on my shoulder. "Mrs. Fitzgerald," he says, "that's Kate's heart.
Jodi Picoult (My Sister’s Keeper)
I fall into those gaps sometimes. You know, the gaps that open up in between thoughts. I reach out for the walls. Every time. And I grasp at emptiness… The gaps don’t have walls. You don’t need walls to climb out. You don’t need a matchstick either; light only makes your shadows look frightening. You only need to search the darkness for the old face, carbon paper and a white mask.
Arindam Mallick (Prelude to the Horizon)
It began as a dollhouse. Over time, it has become more than that. A dolltown. A dollworld. A dolluniverse. Constantly expanding Almost everyone who finds the room feels compelled to add to it. To leave the contents of their pockets repurposed as a wall or tree or temple. A thimble becomes a trash can. Used matchsticks create a fence. Loose buttons transform into wheels or apples or stars.
Erin Morgenstern (The Starless Sea)
Not for the last time in these pages, we find that the subversive logic of love quietly enters—then devastatingly explodes—the matchstick scaffolding of simple binaries upon which the modern world hangs its most cherished values. Ask a lover if she experiences her passion to please her sweetheart as a constraint; ask her whether she feels like a dupe of someone else’s power games: she will either laugh out loud or look at you with profound pity.
Christopher Watkin (Biblical Critical Theory: How the Bible's Unfolding Story Makes Sense of Modern Life and Culture)
So if you understand me better, what then?" "You don't get it, do you?" I said, "It's not a question of what then". Some people get a kick out of reading railway timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happened to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?" "kind of like a hobby?" she said, amused. "Yeah, I guess you could call it a hobby. Most normal people would call it friendship or love or something, but if you want to call it a hobby, that's OK, too.
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
Selfishness is as bad as kerosene. When someone is cold and you share your blanket, you're both warmer than you would have been alone. You offer the sick your medicine and their happiness will be your medicine. Someone probably a lot smarter than me said hell is other people. I say you're in hell when you don't give to someone who needs, because you can't bear to have less. What you are giving away then is your own soul. You have to care for each other or you walk on cinders, a matchstick ready to be struck. That's what I believe, anyway. Do you believe it?
Joe Hill (The Fireman)
David thought about it. There were many things that happened that seemed bad. But his mom said God only did the good stuff… even if it seemed bad at the time—in the end, it’s good. Like the yucky medicine that tastes bad, but in the end makes you better. He finally looked at Trevor and nodded. “I do believe God is good and true.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
So if you understand me better, what then?” “You don’t get it, do you?” I said. “It’s not a question of ‘what then.’ Some people get a kick out of reading railroad timetables and that’s all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what’s wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?” “Kind of like a hobby?” she said, amused. “Sure, I guess you could call it a hobby. Most normal people would call it friendship or love or something, but if you want to call it a hobby, that’s O.K., too.” “Tell me,” said Naoko, “you liked Kizuki, too, didn’t you?” “Of course,” I said. “How about Reiko?” “I like her a lot,” I said. “She’s really nice.” “How come you always like people like that—people like us, I mean? We’re all kinda weird and twisted and drowning—me and Kizuki and Reiko. Why can’t you like more normal people?” “Because I don’t see you like that,” I said after giving it some thought. “I don’t see you or Kizuki or Reiko as ‘twisted’ in any way. The guys I think of as twisted are out there running around.” “But we are twisted,” said Naoko. “I can see that.
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
Every now and then, a small plane arrives from nowhere – as tiny as the head of a match-stick – it flies around my head, buzzing, like a pesky little fly, then disappears into my ear. Later, it lands on my throbbing heart. Excited tourists get out of the plane, constantly clicking their cameras, watching the narrow chasms open-mouthed. After some time, the pilot tells the passengers to get back on the plane. The storms are unpredictable here, he warns. So the small plane flies out of my ear, and as I watch them leave, I wish I could go with them. But I know that's impossible. My fear of heights keeps me in the deep.
Zoltan Komor (Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories)
A President J.G., F.C. who said he wasn’t going to stand here and ask us to make some tough choices because he was standing here promising he was going to make them for us. Who asked us simply to sit back and enjoy the show. Who handled wild applause from camouflage-fatigue- and sandal-and-poncho-clad C.U.S.P.s with the unabashed grace of a real pro. Who had black hair and silver sideburns, just like his big-headed puppet, and the dusty brick-colored tan seen only among those without homes and those whose homes had a Dermalatix Hypospectral personal sterilization booth. Who declared that neither Tax & Spend nor Cut & Borrow comprised the ticket into a whole new millennial era (here more puzzlement among the Inaugural audience, which Mario represents by having the tiny finger-puppets turn rigidly toward each other and then away and then toward). Who alluded to ripe and available Novel Sources of Revenue just waiting out there, unexploited, not seen by his predecessors because of the trees (?). Who foresaw budgetary adipose trimmed with a really big knife. The Johnny Gentle who stressed above all—simultaneously pleaded for and promised—an end to atomized Americans’ fractious blaming of one another for our terrible 151 internal troubles. Here bobs and smiles from both wealthily green-masked puppets and homeless puppets in rags and mismatched shoes and with used surgical masks, all made by E.T.A.’s fourth- and fifth-grade crafts class, under the supervision of Ms. Heath, of match-sticks and Popsicle-stick shards and pool-table felt with sequins for eyes and painted fingernail-parings for smiles/frowns, under their masks. The Johnny Gentle, Chief Executive who pounds a rubber-gloved fist on the podium so hard it knocks the Seal askew and declares that Dammit there just must be some people besides each other of us to blame. To unite in opposition to. And he promises to eat light and sleep very little until he finds them—in the Ukraine, or the Teutons, or the wacko Latins. Or—pausing with that one arm up and head down in the climactic Vegas way—closer to right below our nose. He swears he’ll find us some cohesion-renewing Other. And then make some tough choices. Alludes to a whole new North America for a crazy post-millennial world.
David Foster Wallace (Infinite Jest)
Love Minus Zero / No Limit" My love she speaks like silence Without ideals or violence She doesn't have to say she's faithful Yet she's true, like ice, like fire People carry roses And make promises by the hours My love she laughs like the flowers Valentines can't buy her In the dime stores and bus stations People talk of situations Read books, repeat quotations Draw conclusions on the wall Some speak of the future My love she speaks softly She knows there's no success like failure And that failure's no success at all The cloak and dagger dangles Madams light the candles In ceremonies of the horsemen Even a pawn must hold a grudge Statues made of match-sticks Crumble into one another My love winks, she does not bother She knows too much to argue or to judge The bridge at midnight trembles The country doctor rambles Bankers' nieces seek perfection Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring The wind howls like a hammer The night blows rainy My love she's like some raven At my window with a broken wing Bringing It All Back Home (1965)
Bob Dylan
Come here, you flea-ridden hair wad. You’ll have all the sugar biscuits you want, if you’ll give your new toy to me.” He whistled softly and clicked. But the blandishments did not work. Dodger merely regarded him with bright eyes and stayed at the threshold, clutching the vial in his tiny paws. “Give him one of your garters,” Leo said, still staring at the ferret. “I beg your pardon?” Miss Marks asked frostily. “You heard me. Take off a garter and offer it to him as a trade. Otherwise we’ll be chasing this damned animal all through the house. And I doubt Rohan will appreciate the delay.” The governess gave Leo a long-suffering glance. “Only for Mr. Rohan’s sake would I consent to this. Turn your back.” “For God’s sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?” But Leo complied, facing the opposite direction. He heard a great deal of rustling as Miss Marks sat on a bedroom chair and lifted her skirts. It just so happened that Leo was positioned near a full-length looking glass, the oval cheval style that tilted up or down to adjust one’s reflection. And he had an excellent view of Miss Marks in the chair. And the oddest thing happened—he got a flash of an astonishingly pretty leg. He blinked in bemusement, and then the skirts were dropped. “Here,” Miss Marks said gruffly, and tossed it in Leo’s direction. Turning, he managed to catch it in midair. Dodger surveyed them both with beady-eyed interest. Leo twirled the garter enticingly on his finger. “Have a look, Dodger. Blue silk with lace trim. Do all governesses anchor their stockings in such a delightful fashion? Perhaps those rumors about your unseemly past are true, Marks.” “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, my lord.” Dodger’s little head bobbed as it followed every movement of the garter. Fitting the vial in his mouth, the ferret carried it like a miniature dog, loping up to Leo with maddening slowness. “This is a trade, old fellow,” Leo told him. “You can’t have something for nothing.” Carefully Dodger set down the vial and reached for the garter. Leo simultaneously gave him the frilly circlet and snatched the vial.
Lisa Kleypas (Seduce Me at Sunrise (The Hathaways, #2))
A minimum of two matchsticks must be added.
The Grabarchuk Family (101 Puzzle Quizzes (Interactive Puzzlebook for E-readers))
Marks was so self-contained and tenacious that it was often easy to forget she was still a young woman in her early twenties. When Leo had first met her, she had been the perfect embodiment of a dried-up spinster, with her spectacles and forbidding scowl and her stern hyphen of a mouth. Her spine was unbending as a fireplace poker, and her hair, the dull brown of apple moths, was always pinned back too tightly. The Grim Reaper, Leo had nicknamed her, despite the objections of the family. But the past year had wrought a remarkable change in Marks. She had filled out, her body slender but no longer matchstick thin, and her cheeks had gained color. A week and a half ago, when Leo had arrived from London, he had been absolutely astonished to see Marks with light golden locks. Apparently she had been dyeing her hair for years, but after an error on the part of the apothecary, she had been forced to abandon the disguise. And whereas the darker brown locks had been too severe for her delicate features and pale skin, her own natural blond was stunning. Which had left Leo to grapple with the fact that Catherine Marks, his mortal enemy, was a beauty. It wasn't really the altered hair color that made her look so different... it was more that Marks was so uncomfortable without it. She felt vulnerable, and it showed. As a result, Leo wanted to strip away more layers, literal and physical. He wanted to know her.
Lisa Kleypas (Married by Morning (The Hathaways, #4))
Carmelina points at the cabin. "What is that?" I follow her finger to the log walls made of matchsticks, the miniature windows. The doorknob has fallen off along the way, but other than that it's intact. A perfect, tiny replica of the cabin in the forest. I can almost hear the Steller's jay, imagine its flash of blue, smell the lemony resin of the cedars. See daisies looped flower to stem upon dark hair. Feel a hand with a broad palm and rough fingers linked with mine. I smile at Carmelina. "That is home.
Hannah Tunnicliffe (Season of Salt and Honey)
A matchstick before burning other things burns itself. Our anger is also like a matchstick. Before destroying others, it destroys us.
N.K. Sondhi (Know Your Worth : Stop Thinking, Start Doing)
Rutledge,” he said pleasantly. “We were just finishing supper. Will you have some?” Harry gave an impatient shake of his head. “How is Poppy?” “Come, let’s have some wine, and we’ll discuss a few things—” “Is she having supper as well?” “No.” “I want to see her. Now.” Cam’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” “Let me rephrase—I’m going to see her, if I have to turn this place into matchsticks.
Lisa Kleypas (Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways, #3))
I ignore him and continue walking. I ignore the light drizzle that falls from the smog-filled sky and I ignore the mass of men who stand outside the public-house attempting to light their pipes with matchsticks that burn out as fast as they are struck alight. I ignore their thunderous cackles and cajoling as one of their friends gets sick on another's boots and I ignore my pseudo-name as my mentor yells it behind me.
Ilse V. Rensburg (Blood Sipper)
She soaked, washed, and trimmed three artichokes, baby purple Romagnas, which would sadly lose their beautiful hue once they hit hot water, then washed and peeled a bunch of pencil-thin asparagus. She pulled out several small zucchini and sliced them into translucent moons. She washed three leeks, slicing them down their centers and peeling back each layer, carefully rinsing away any sand, then chopped the white, light green, and some of the darker parts into a fine dice. She shelled a couple handfuls of spring peas, collecting them in a ceramic bowl. She chopped a bulb of fennel and julienned one more, then washed and spun the fronds. She washed the basil and mint and spun them dry. Last, she chopped the shallots. With the vegetables prepped, she started on the risotto, the base layer for the torta a strati alla primavera, or spring layer cake, she'd been finessing since her arrival, and which she hoped would become Dia's dish. She'd make a total of six 'torte': three artichoke and three asparagus. The trick was getting the risotto to the perfect consistency, which was considerably less creamy than usual. It had to be firm enough to keep its shape and support the layers that would be placed on top of it, but not gummy, the kiss of death for any risotto. She started with a 'soffritto' of shallot, fennel, and leek, adding Carnaroli rice, which she preferred to arborio, pinot grigio, and, when the wine had plumped the rice, spring-vegetable stock, one ladle at a time. Once the risotto had absorbed all the liquid and cooked sufficiently, she divided it into six single-serving crescent molds, placed the molds in a glass baking dish, and popped them all in the oven, which made the risotto the consistency of a soft Rice Krispies treat. Keeping the molds in place, she added the next layer, steamed asparagus in one version, artichoke in the other. A layer of basil and crushed pignoli pesto followed, then the zucchini rounds, flash-sauteed, and the fennel matchsticks, cooked until soft, and finally, the spring-pea puree. She carefully removed the first mold and was rewarded with a near-perfect crescent tower, which she drizzled with red-pepper coulis. Finally, she placed a dollop of chilled basil-mint 'sformato' alongside the crescent and radiated mint leaves around the 'sformato' so that it looked like a sun. The sun and the moon, 'sole e luna,' all anyone could hope for.
Jenny Nelson (Georgia's Kitchen)
What I know about love, I can write on the head of a matchstick.
Barbara Avon (Static)
Gods by The Hundreds (The Sonnet) Some people fear christ, Some claim to hear christ. I work restless day and night, To raise the living christs. Some people fear god, Some claim to be prophets. I work without sleep and rest, To raise gods by the hundreds. One week of my life produces enough electricity, To power a 100 years of humanitarian endeavor. One life laid down to lift up the society, Triggers a wildfire of sacrificial fervor. I am but an instrument in the making of legends. I am but a matchstick to light up the sapiens.
Abhijit Naskar (Mucize Misafir Merhaba: The Peace Testament)
Both of us have a lot of feelings we need to get out in the open. So if you want to take those feelings and smash somebody with them, smash me. Then we can understand each other better." "So if you understand me better, what then?" "You don't get it, do you?" I said. "It's not a question of what then'. Some people get a kick out of reading railway timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?" (Norwegian wood)
Haruki Murakami
Somewhere inside me a tornado swoops down, lifting a matchstick house into an exploding sky. Shards fall like rain, piercing my skin, thorning the ground. In dreams begin follies, says a voice like a forgotten poem. I walk carefully through the thorns, one foot in front of the other not looking back. Behind me the car door sighs shut.
Chitra Banarjee Divakaruni
Try to luminiscent up the fire in you, availing your brain as a matchstick.
DEBARGHYA RAY
The suffocating anguish retracted, collapsing into itself like a matchstick house in a windstorm.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (From Blood and Ash (Blood and Ash, #1))
felt the kindliness of the moss, which is all over everywhere once you get out of the made world. God’s flooring. All the kinds, pillowy, pin-cushiony, shag carpet. Gray sticks of moss with red heads like matchsticks.
Barbara Kingsolver (Demon Copperhead)
I looked at the trail and the dirt and the moss. The woods were their own show, with mushrooms for jokes. Mushrooms like orange ears that looked like they’d glow in the dark. I was delirious, given the no fuel in my tank, other than painkillers. But I felt some things. The deer family that left their tracks in the muddy trail. As much venison as I’d eaten in my life, I felt I was some percentage of deer. I felt the kindliness of the moss, which is all over everywhere once you get out of the made world. God’s flooring. All the kinds, pillowy, pin-cushiony, shag carpet. Gray sticks of moss with red heads like matchsticks. Some tiny dead part of me woke up to the moss and said, Man. Where you been. This is the fucking wonderful world of color.
Barbara Kingsolver (Demon Copperhead)
And the third very stupid thing is Mr. Druff’s store phone. Are we in the stone-age? Who still has a rotary phone? Ohhhh, I am on a roll,
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
And just because presents were big didn’t mean they were good. It could be a trashcan or… a broom, like his mom got once from the neighbor. To David, that was like getting a hundred vocabulary words to write.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
These matches… they wouldn’t be… the story telling kind of matches, would they?
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Two hands cut down a few trees, but one matchstick clears a forest.
Matshona Dhliwayo
When Mr. Trevor came out of the bathroom, Sarah gasped, “Look mom, he looks like a real man!
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Have a seat,” David said, trying to help her out a little. “Mom’s head is in the cookie clouds I think.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
He’d probably get a bag of cow jewels, as Mr. Druff called them. Which was ground up cow innards stuffed into its own stomach skin until it looked like innocent links of sausage. It was pure evil if you asked David.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
come. But then he remembered the hope part. Faith, his mom also called it. Believing in something good even when it was nowhere around to be seen.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
The angel laughed and stretched his staff out, touching the paper star at the top of the Christmas tree. "As long as you have the star of David in your heart...
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Anything could happen to change the destiny of a man. Whether it be something that raises him up to royal heights or lowers him to the slums of the forgotten street.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Just kick him in the shin,” David said, opening the curtain that served as a wall for his part of the bedroom. “I can’t do that! He’ll cut me up into pieces and wrap me in paper and sell me for Christmas.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
David ran off before he could tell the man what was on his mind. “If you paid the least attention, you’d know we don’t own a television much less a video game, Mr. Poo- Poo-Brown-Pants Scrooge.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Son!” he went on in a shrill voice. “Do you realize what you have there?” No, David didn’t and he wanted very much to know. Were they like the beans in Jack and the Bean Stalk or what? “Those—are Christmas matches!
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
His body knew he was in a place that meant home.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Every year they made something to add to the collection. So far they had popcorn garland, meat paper chains, and snowflakes.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Uneasily Amelia drew her hand away and told her brother, “Mr. Rohan saved my life twice today. First I nearly fell out the window, and then I found the bees.” “This house,” Leo muttered, “should be torn down and used for matchsticks.” “You should order a full structural inspection,” Rohan said. “The house has settled badly. Some of the chimneys are leaning, and the entrance hall ceiling is sagging. You’ve got damaged joinery and beams.” “I know what the problems are.” The calm appraisal had annoyed Leo. He’d retained enough of his past architectural training to assess the house’s condition accurately. “It may not be safe for the family to stay here.” “But that’s my concern,” Leo said, adding with a sneer, “isn’t it?” Sensitive to the brittle disquiet in the atmosphere, Amelia made a hasty attempt at diplomacy. “Mr. Rohan, Lord Ramsay is convinced the house poses no immediate danger to the family.” “I wouldn’t be so easily convinced,” Rohan replied. “Not with four sisters in my charge.” “Care to take them off my hands?” Leo asked. “You can have the lot of them.
Lisa Kleypas (Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways, #1))
His eyes were above hers, and she saw that the golden-hazel irises were rimmed with black. “Miss Hathaway … you’re quite certain fate had no hand in our meeting tonight?” She couldn’t seem to breathe properly. “Qu-quite certain.” His head bent low. “And in all likelihood we’ll never meet again?” “Never.” He was too large, too close. Nervously Amelia tried to marshal her thoughts, but they scattered like spilled matchsticks … and then he set fire to them as his breath touched her cheek. “I hope you’re right. God help me if I should ever have to face the consequences.” “Of what?” Her voice was faint. “This.” His hand slid to the back of her neck and his mouth covered hers.
Lisa Kleypas (Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways, #1))
Watching Larkin’s efforts, Rearden felt what he did when he watched an ant struggling under the load of a matchstick. It’s so hard for him, thought Rearden, and so easy for me.
Ayn Rand (Atlas Shrugged)
matchstick figures of people on the beach.
Jane Holland (Girl Number One)
It never took much for the humans to pull out their matchsticks and burn a fella these days.
Tim Marquitz (From Hell (Demon Squad #0.5))
Matchsticks A Not Quite the Fairy Tale Short Story May Sage
Aimee Easterling (Magic & Mistletoe: 15 Paranormal Stories for the Holidays)
Maybe it was a little childish to be that happy about getting one present, but David didn’t have best friends or even a close friend and so, little things meant a lot. His mom said he was easy to please. Maybe he got that talent from being poor. But
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
David really didn’t know the boy who’d pulled his name this year. Jerry Reed. He was one of the quiet ones. David tried his best to warm up to him, but it was like trying to be friends with a rock.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
And he especially never told anybody that he didn’t have a dad. He never lied about it, but David found many clever ways to avoid answering that question when it was brought up. 
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
So did you have a good day?” Mr. Druff asked the question with anger, like he was not happy to. David never understood that about him. He often did nice things, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about doing it. Like he’d made some deal with God to be nice at least once a day, even if it killed him. It certainly seemed to cause him pain and annoyance. “Yes
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
It’s five o’clock, and I’m reaching into the fridge for a block of cheese when there’s a knock at the door. Stealth mode engaged, I abandon making what would have been the world’s most perfect sandwich and creep up the hall, eyeing the door like whoever is on the other side is going to burst right through it. We have a staredown then, the door and I. It’s pretty intense, just short of an evil sheriff hiding in the shadows, chewing on a matchstick. Another knock. Without moving my eyes, I pump a blob of antibacterial gel into my hands and rub it away. Because I’m sure the only thing on any home invader’s mind, after being polite enough to knock first, is a sanitary victim. I roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out of my skull.
Louise Gornall (Under Rose-Tainted Skies)
Was There Anything I Could Do? She comes home and she's happy She comes home and she's blue She comes home and she tells him Listen baby we're through I don't know what happened next All I know is she moved Packed up her bags and her curtains Left him in his room Was there anything I could do? She went out with her paint box Paints the chapel blue She went out with her matchsticks Torched a car wash too I don't know where she's living All I've got is a card A picture of her at the pyramids A knife held to her heart Was there anything I could do? She came down from the mountains Said goodbye to her guru She went back to her room Lost herself in voodoo I don't say that I blame her People don't know what they want If you spend your life looking behind you You don't see what's up front Was there anything I could do? Putting out her fire Putting out her fire
Go-Betweens
Slow-Cooker Bean & Spinach Enchiladas   Nutritional info: - Calories 576, Fat 11 g, Protein 28 g, Carbohydrates 60 g. Servings: 4   Ingredients: 15 ½ oz. black beans (rinsed) 10 oz. frozen chopped spinach (thawed & squeezed of excess liquid) 1 cup frozen corn 1/2 tsp. ground cumin Kosher salt & black pepper (to taste) 3½ c. salsa 8 (6”) corn tortillas (warmed) 6 c. head romaine lettuce (chopped) 4 radishes (cut into matchsticks) 1/2 c. grape tomatoes (halved) 1/2 cucumber (halved & sliced) 3 tbsp. fresh lime juice 2 tbsp. olive oil Sliced scallions (for serving)   Directions: First, in a medium bowl, squash half the beans. Then, add in the spinach, corn, cumin, the remaining beans, 1/2 teaspoon of salt & 1/4 teaspoon of pepper; mix well to combine. Next, spread the salsa in the bottom of a 4-6 quart slow cooker. Evenly divide, roll up the bean mixture into the tortillas (about 1/2 cup each) & place the rolls seam-side down in the slow cooker, in a single layer. Top it with the remaining salsa. Now, cover & cook on low for about 2½ to 3 hours or until heated through. Before serving in a large bowl; toss the lettuce, radishes, tomatoes, cucumber, lime juice, oil & 1/2 teaspoon each of salt & pepper. Serve it with the enchiladas & sprinkle with the scallions.
Sarah Clark (Simple Vegan Slow Cooker Cookbook Quick & Easy Slow Cooker Recipes For The Whole Family)
Don't fight the waves. Dive under, bob up, or catch the curl and ride the wave. The ocean is stronger than you; you might as well be a matchstick in comparison. But if you yield to the waves, they carry you, their power becomes you.   ~ Elizabeth Cunningham
Kytka Hilmar-Jezek (Waldorf Talk: Waldorf and Steiner Education Inspired Ideas for Homeschooling for January and February (Seasonal Rhythm Series Book One) (Waldorf Homeschool Series 1))
By the end of the day, David’s mood had brightened. He didn’t like the yucky things inside him while joy waited to play and have fun with him. He decided to put the funky stuff in the back of his mind and think only of the good things. And
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
And the seventh stupid thing? Is an amazing, huge hearted young man named David, allowing any one thing to stand in his way of being happy, especially when happiness isn’t in what you get or where you go, but who you’re with and who you are.” Trevor touched David’s chest softly just as his tears spilled over, right onto his hand. “I
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
And the eighth stupid thing,” Trevor whispered, stroking David’s back, “was not realizing you needed this hug a lot sooner. My bad, little man.” “I
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Our business is to take whatever comes our way in life and do the best we can with it. And God will see to it that we are duly rewarded.
A.C. Kret (12 Matchsticks)
Yeah, not exactly the most understanding of women.” “Ah, well that’s karma for ye.” The man glanced at Garrett, his brow furrowed. “What’s that?” Garrett leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You ever hear the sayin about the man who cut down the most glorious tree in his forest?” The man shook his head. “I can’t say that I have.” Garrett inhaled through his nose. “Well, it goes somat like – there was a man who owned a great piece of land, covered in beautiful trees. One day he decided tae cut down the greatest, most magnificent tree he had. He thought, ‘this one is great now, but soon all of my trees will be this magnificent.’ So he cuts down the tree and sells the wood tae a matchstick company.” “Matchstick company?” “Aye, and they pay him well, using the wood to make a million matches.” Garrett paused. “Well, what happened then?” “One day, some old dodger decided to sit a spell under a tree on the man’s land. Lit his pipe with a match, and tossed it into the forest. Burned the whole forest to the ground.” “That’s a grim story.” “Aye, it is, but I think it applies here.” “Why’s that?” Garrett watched the man trying to still his shaking leg. “Yer name’s Walter, right?” The man’s brows shot up. “It is. God, how do you know that?” “Because you’re the one who cut down the best tree in your forest to make a million matches. Tell me, is yer forest burning yet?
Michaela Wright (Writing Mr. Right)