Plant Hanger Quotes

If you choose to believe me, good. Now I will tell you how Octavia, the spider-web city, is made. There is a precipice between two steep mountains: the city is over the void, bound to the two crests with ropes and chains and catwalks. You walk on the little wooden ties, careful not to set your foot in the open spaces, or you cling to the hempen strands. Below there is nothing for hundreds and hundreds of feet: a few clouds glide past; farther down you can glimpse the chasm's bed. This is the foundation of the city: a net which serves as passage and as support. All the rest, instead of rising up, is hung below: rope ladders, hammocks, houses made like sacks, clothes hangers, terraces like gondolas, skins of water, gas jets, spits, baskets on strings, dumb-waiters, showers, trapezes and rings for children's games, cable cars, chandeliers, pots with trailing plants. Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavia's inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will only last so long.

The urban renewers had struck again. They'd evicted me, a fortune-teller, and a bookie from the corner of Mass. Ave. and Boylston, moved in with sandblasters and bleached oak and plant hangers, and last I looked appeared to be turning the place into a Marin County whorehouse.

The reason these diatribes are heard by more than just the occasional potted plant or captured hero is this: sparks quite frequently find themselves surrounded by people whether they want to be or not. We are not just talking about the stereotypical traveler whose cart breaks down during a storm and thus must seek shelter at the lone castle glimpsed through the trees and so finds himself at a timely ringside seat for the revelation of the latest abomination of science (although there is no denying this happens far more than is statistically probable). No, your seriously steeped-in-madness dabbler in the esoteric sciences usually finds themself taxed with a rag-tag collection of hangers-on, typically consisting of minions, constructs, adventurers, and those unique, unclassifiable, individuals whose raison d’être appears to be to remind us of what a strange world it is. Even more interestingly, it appears that the greater the spark, the more of these individuals they spontaneously accumulate.

Hey, this dress was expensive. I can't have you tearing it off me." "Give me more credit than that. I'd ease it off slowly," he said, planting sweet little kisses by my ear before lightly sucking on my left lobe. "And I'd place it gently on a padded hanger before even thinking of pleasuring you. You'd beg, tell me you want me, but I'd say, 'No, Naya, you know this dress is my first priority, and I'll be back in twenty minutes after I run it to the dry cleaner.'" I giggled and pushed against his chest. "That's all I ask.

I just picture him barging into Heaven,” I offered, “pushing right past the place where you get all the answers to the big questions, learn why there is so much suffering in the world and why we are here and all that, he just beelines to some corner, unrolls a length of rusty chicken wire, and stakes it down with old coat hangers so that he can start planting tomatoes.

They live the rest of their tortured days suspended in custom-made harnesses, limbless, resembling slowly-leaking eggs dangling from macramé plant hangers.

Anton told me he learned how to cook in treatment. Clearly I went into the wrong treatment program.” “Never,” said Gamache. “We love our macramé plant hangers.

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We get it. Plants are pretty and smell nice. For us, the new and exotic frontier is season finale cliff-hangers.