Tied Knot Forever Quotes

There was nothing left for me to do, but go. Though the things of the world were strong with me still. Such as, for example: a gaggle of children trudging through a side-blown December flurry; a friendly match-share beneath some collision-titled streetlight; a frozen clock, a bird visited within its high tower; cold water from a tin jug; towering off one’s clinging shirt post-June rain. Pearls, rags, buttons, rug-tuft, beer-froth. Someone’s kind wishes for you; someone remembering to write; someone noticing that you are not at all at ease. A bloody ross death-red on a platter; a headgetop under-hand as you flee late to some chalk-and-woodfire-smelling schoolhouse. Geese above, clover below, the sound of one’s own breath when winded. The way a moistness in the eye will blur a field of stars; the sore place on the shoulder a resting toboggan makes; writing one’s beloved’s name upon a frosted window with a gloved finger. Tying a shoe; tying a knot on a package; a mouth on yours; a hand on yours; the ending of the day; the beginning of the day; the feeling that there will always be a day ahead. Goodbye, I must now say goodbye to all of it. Loon-call in the dark; calf-cramp in the spring; neck-rub in the parlour; milk-sip at end of day. Some brandy-legged dog proudly back-ploughs the grass to cover its modest shit; a cloud-mass down-valley breaks apart over the course of a brandy-deepened hour; louvered blinds yield dusty beneath your dragging finger, and it is nearly noon and you must decide; you have seen what you have seen, and it has wounded you, and it seems you have only one choice left. Blood-stained porcelain bowl wobbles face down on wood floor; orange peel not at all stirred by disbelieving last breath there among that fine summer dust-layer, fatal knife set down in pass-panic on familiar wobbly banister, later dropped (thrown) by Mother (dear Mother) (heartsick) into the slow-flowing, chocolate-brown Potomac. None of it was real; nothing was real. Everything was real; inconceivably real, infinitely dear. These and all things started as nothing, latent within a vast energy-broth, but then we named them, and loved them, and in this way, brought them forth. And now we must lose them. I send this out to you, dear friends, before I go, in this instantaneous thought-burst, from a place where time slows and then stops and we may live forever in a single instant. Goodbye goodbye good-

People who’ve been hurt often think they have some sort of right to go around hurting other people,” said Sumi. “They think trauma’s a toy to keep handing down forever. But the fact that someone hurt you and tied you up in knots doesn’t give you the right to do it to anybody else. I’m a formerly dead girl made of gingerbread and hope, and even I can see that.

Blood is the tie that binds. The knot in your soul that says no matter where you go or what you do, there’s someone in this godforsaken, shithole hell of a world you’re forever connected to.

In the bush he taught the knots I use to tie my blanket to my saddle Ds also the way I stand to use a carpenter's plane and the trick of catching fish with a bush fly and a strip of greenhide these things are like the dark marks made in the rings of great trees locked forever in my daily self.

If a cord is severed, you may tie it together again. But the knot in the middle, shall forever remain.

War did that to people. It took practical strangers and tied them together in knots of steel.

Blood is the tie that binds. The knot in your soul that says no matter where you go or what you do, there’s someone in this God-forsaken, shithole-hell-of-a-world you’re forever connected to.

May this knot remain forever tied, and may your hands always hold one another. Hold tightly during the storms of life, and be gentle as they nurture one another. I summon the spirits of the four quarters of our world, that this binding may be blessed by the powers of all creation. So let it be, amen.

It take it Priss has you tied up in knots?” There wasn’t much point in denying it. And maybe admitting things to Dare would help him get them under control. “I want her.” “No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.” Trace had trusted Dare forever, as a good friend, a partner in business and as an honorable man. He knew Dare had uncanny instincts and deadly skills. But he thought he had covered his reaction to Priss. “Damn.” Trace ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think Molly and Chris picked up on it, too?” After a short sound that might have been a stifled laugh, Dare said, “They’re neither blind, deaf, or stupid. So . . . yeah. I’m betting they noticed.” Trace frowned. With a shake of his head, Dare dismissed his concern. “It’s not a big deal, Trace. Don’t sweat it.” The mild, even amused reaction to his predicament surprised Trace. “She’s off-limits.” “You think so?” Dare looked down at the dappling of sunshine through tree limbs, then back at Trace. “Why’s that?” “What do you mean, why’s that? Hell, Dare, I barely know the woman.” “You knew her well enough to take her picture.” If Dare smiled, he was going to flatten him. Period.

I wanted to rip him apart limb by limb with my teeth and fingers turned into claws. I wanted to hold his lion’s heart in my hands too tightly and feel it beat and throb for me, against me. I wanted to disassemble him, piece by bloody piece, to satisfy my burning passion, my crushing rage at the changes he’d wrought on my life and me. But then…I wanted to sit crossed-legged in the middle of the mess, smooth my claws turned fingers over the jagged edges of him and put him back together again. I wanted to trace the outline of each of his limbs, knot together his muscles and slot his bones into their joints. I wanted to sew myself into every atom of his DNA and live there forever, intrinsically tied to him so that if any force tried to tear me away like I knew they would, they’d have to kill him to separate us. It was a gruesome way to love someone, but it was the way I felt about Lionel Danner and I knew that would never change.

She stepped to her clothing trunks, the grand traveling trunks that she had packed so hopefully in the days before she left Bingtown. They had been stuffed when she began her journey, full of sensible clothes fit for a lady adventurer. Stoutly woven cotton blouses with a minimum of lace, split skirts for hiking, hats with veils to ward off insects and sun, sturdy leather boots…little but memories remained of them now. The hardships of travel had softened the fabrics. Her boots scuffed and leaked, the ties now a series of knots. Laundering clothes in the acidic waters of the river had been her only choice, but seams had weakened and hems had frayed. She drew on a set of her worn clothes with no thought as to what they would look like. No one was going to look at her anyway. She was finished forever with worrying about what she looked like or what people thought of her.

So, let me get this right.” He braked at a traffic light and yanked at the edges of his bow tie, reefing the knot undone, leaving the tails flapping open. “You’re pissed at me because my friends don’t think you’re just some kind of fuck buddy?

The knot was more than sex, I realized in that moment. It was a symbol of our tying together. A knot, a binding, a promise. Wolfgang and I were forever tangled together in a knot too deep and twisted to ever be undone. And I was in awe of every curve and fray of our love.

First of all, don’t tie a half-hitch knot. You and Daniel should plan on being married forever. Second, always laugh together. If you can make fun of yourself, and he follows your lead, then it’ll be easy to become best friends who enjoy making one another laugh. “Also, listen, listen, listen. Seek first to understand him before insisting that you be understood. When you are wrong, ya gotta say you’re sorry. When you’re right, shut up and never, ever say I told you so. If you fight, and you will, never let it get ugly. Walk away if you have to. And never go to sleep angry. Talk and talk and talk until you get over it and forget why you were mad in the first place. But here’s the thing. And this is important. There are times when somebody has to give. I’m not saying become a verbal

CLAIRE I don’t know when I started to hate my husband. I didn’t always. When we tied the knot over ten years ago, we held hands and I swore I would love him forever. Until death did us part. And I meant it. I meant it with every fiber of my being. I genuinely believed I would be married to Noah Matchett for the rest of my life. I fantasized about the two of us growing old together—holding hands while sitting in matching rocking chairs in a retirement home. And when the minister declared us husband and wife, I patted myself on the back for choosing the right guy. I’m not sure what happened between then and now. But I can’t stand the guy anymore. “Where’s my UChicago shirt, Claire?” Noah is hunched over the top drawer of his dresser, his eyebrows bunched together as his hazel eyes stare down into the contents of the drawer. He clears his throat, which is what he always does when he’s concentrating hard on something. I used to find it cute and endearing. Now I find it irritating. Nails on a chalkboard irritating. “I don’t know.” I grab a couple of shirts out of my own dresser drawer and shove them into the brown luggage gaping open on our bed. “It’s not in the drawer?” He looks up from the drawer and purses his lips. “If it were in the drawer, why would I be asking you about it?

People who've been hurt often think they have some sort of right to go around hurting people," said Sumi. "They think trauma's a top to keep handing down forever. But the fact that someone hurt you and tied you up in knots doesn't give you the right to do it to anybody else.

I heard her sing Cleopatra at the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket. Da tempeste il legno infranto. Forty years ago now. I had roses sent to her dressing room. She gave me the two ribbons she had used to tie up her hair, red ribbons.” His voice had risen in the excitement of these reminiscences. For some reason he had fixed his eyes on Kemp. “Sir, I tied them together and knotted them round my testicles. For years I put them on with my clothes. I wore them till they rotted away.” “Egad, sir, rotted away, did they?” The major cast a droll look round the table. “Nothing lasts forever,” he said.