Tangled Yarn Quotes

Maybe there’s a heaven, like they say, a place where everything we’ve ever done is noted and recorded, weighed on big karma scales. Maybe not. Maybe this whole thing is just a giant experiment run by aliens who find out human hijinks amusing. Or maybe we’re an abandoned project started by a deity who checked out a long time ago, but we’re still hard-wired to believe, to try to make meaning out of the seemingly random. Maybe we’re all part of the same unconscious stew, dreaming the same dreams, hoping the same hopes, needing the same connection, trying to find it, missing, trying again—each of us playing our parts in the other’s plotlines, just one big ball of human yarn tangled up together. Maybe this is it.

Kittens tangle your yarn, men tangle your wits, and it's simple as breathing for both.

scraps of love torn and tattered faded, scattered trashed threads of hope frayed and tangled broken, mangled dashed backing, buttons yarn and batting quilted tenderly wrapped up in this warm repair my patchwork family

I feel lost and confused, but happy and certain. I am like a ball of tangled yarn. The parts that are untangled are available, useable; the rest is a mess, useless until it is untied. That mess feels endless and at most times unyielding.

He wished that he could break out his knitting, but for some reason, people didn’t take you seriously as a warrior when you were knitting. He’d never figured out why. Making socks required four or five double-ended bone needles, and while they weren’t very large, you could probably jam one into someone’s eye if you really wanted to. Not that he would. He’d have to pull the needle out of the sock to do it, and then he’d be left with the grimly fiddly work of rethreading the stitches. Also, washing blood out of wool was possible, but a pain. Still, if he had to suddenly pull out his sword and fend off an attack, there was a chance he’d drop the yarn, and since he’d been feeling masochistic and was using two colors for this current set of socks, there was absolutely no chance the yarn wouldn’t get tangled and then he’d be trying to murder people while chasing the yarn around. And god forbid the tide rose and he went berserk. You never got the knitting untangled after that; you usually just had to throw it away completely.

It’s perfect. Blurred lines; it’s when fact and fiction become indiscernible. Fantasy and reality fade into a color of grey yarn and you become tangled up in it and can’t escape into the world of black and white you desperately need as proof of the reality of life itself.

That was how I imagined my anatomy back then, brain like tangled yarn, body like an empty vessel, private parts like some strange foreign country. But I was careful shutting the door, of course. I didn’t really want to die.

Lynn said that therapy was like separating the strands in a tangled web of yarn. It made sense that things would keep getting more separate for awhile so that we eventually came back together in an organized way. (205)

In the dark of the night, we're nothing but shadows. My feelings and thoughts are as tangled as unraveled yarn, loose ends and knots and bursts of violent color.

Just as the towering myth of Abraham Lincoln—honest backwoods lawyer, spinner of yarns, righter of wrongs—tells only part of the truth, so, too, is the myth of America woefully incomplete. The country that Ronald Reagan once called “a shining city upon a hill” has, in fact, been tangled up in darkness since before she was born. Millions of souls have graced the American stage over the centuries, played parts both great and small, and made their final exits. But of all the souls who witnessed America’s birth and growth, who fought in her finest hours, and who had a hand in her hidden history, only one soul remains to tell the whole truth. What follows is the story of Henry Sturges. What follows is the story of an American life.

The colors are amazing. This yarn in the passenger seat has perfect browns. It reminds me of your hair.” Livia touched her tresses, wishing they were tangled in his hands.

The piece was like an elegant interrogation made of tangled yarn, a query from a well-dressed man in a casket, not yet dead. It proceeded slowly, like a careful equation, and then not: if x = y, if major = minor, if death equals part of life and life part of death, then what is the sum of the infinite notes of this one phrase? It asked, answered, reasked, its moody asking a refinement of reluctance or dislike.

I walk down the stairs to lean against her. “I’m sorry,” I say vaguely. I’m not entirely sure what for. Being a weirdo, being a skank. Being the happy-saddest person who ever lived. “Don’t be, darling,” she says. “Life is messy. I certainly don’t expect tidiness from yours or anybody else’s.” She kisses the side of my head. Then she wraps her arms around me because I’m crying. Honey’s got an arm draped over Belle’s shoulder, but he uses his other hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. Everything is unspooling inside me now. If I were a ball of yarn, I’d be just a stringy tangle on the floor. If I were a reservoir, I’d be overflowing my banks. Who I really need to talk to about all of this, of course, is Edi. “She’s going to miss everything now,” I sob. “And you’re going to miss her,” my mother says. “Such lucky girls, both of you.

she’s too quiet about it.” “Isn’t that the point of leading by example?” Kat frowned at her ball of yarn, more of a tangled mass of yarn than a ball. “Yes, mostly. But if you don’t ever say anything, then how can others follow your example? All the good works get lost in the background noise. I think there are two parts to leading by example: do what you say, and say what you do.

Shared memories; triumphs and tragedies; the heroine doing right in the end despite temptation—all the plots of all the movies I’ve written tangled together into one gigantic ball of yarn I couldn’t begin to unravel.

camouflage-painted contraption that looked like a golf cart on steroids.

in the New England way—

Just the act of free-flow writing quieted my brain. It took the big ball of yarn and tangles, and somehow, a little corner of it began revealing order.

Life is a ball of yarn that someone got all tangled. It would make sense if it were rolled up tight, or if it were unrolled and completely stretched out. But such as it is, life is a problem without shape, a confusion of yarn leading nowhere.

Cream and sugar’s

were knitting away.

spiders and flies. Double ick.

about your being

She put her work, needles and all,

had been tough, changing high schools in her sophomore year,

some men out there who knitted.

So much time and energy is wasted when we worry about the past. Every time we walk back into yesterday's yarn we get tangled up in its woolly story. We were not created by God with an extra set of eyes on the back of our head because God did not intend for us to keep looking backwards. Don't rehearse your reverse. The Apostle Paul got it right when he said, 'I press on'. Press on, beyond the past, into your tomorrow.

Kittens tangle your yarn, men tangle your wits, and it’s simple as breathing for both.

the skrzat by the stove complaining of the dirty floor or the kikimora in the neighbour’s house exclaiming in delight as she finds yarn to tangle.