Ties That Tether Quotes

She knew he meant it. He’d burn the library, the city or the whole world to ashes if she asked him. It was their bond, marked by blood and scent and something else she couldn’t place. A tether as strong as the one that bound her to her parents. Stronger, in some ways.

So what if you burned a few books? Those librarians deserve it. When we're older, maybe we'll burn it to the ground together." She knew he meant it. He'd burn the library, the city, or the whole world to ashes if she asked him. It was their bond, marked by blood and scent and something else she couldn't place. A tether as strong as the one that bound her to her parents, stronger in some ways.

True opinions are a fine thing and do all sorts of good so long as they stay in their place; but they will not stay long. They run away from a man's mind, so they are not worth much until you tether them by working out the reason. Once they are tied down, they become knowledge, and are stable.

Break free from the binding robes of passion that feels like a lump in your heart, perform that surgery today, and you'll be set free forever.

It’s like she and I are tethered together, but she’s the strong one. The pillar. And when troubled waters wash me downstream, all I have to do is follow the rope that ties me back to her. It always leads me back to her.

Instead, ourselves the beneficiaries of this kind of benign neglect, we now measure success as the extent to which we manage to keep our children monitored, tethered, tied to us.

Chains chains that hold me to the ground chains that keep me solidly bound chains that tether my heart to you chains that only one truth...

How much more of yourself, of your culture will you lose to accommodate him in your life?

When a certain kind of psychic detachment occurs, I retrieve my ribbon; I tie it around my ankle. I tell myself that should delusion come to call, or hallucinations crowd my senses again, I might be able to wrangle some sense out of the senseless. I tell myself that if I must live with a slippery mind, I want to know how to tether it too.

Let go of the life you’ve planned and accept the life that’s waiting for you.

Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We are bound to the chains of bitterness, tied together, trapped. Until we can forgive the person who harmed us, that person will hold the keys to our happiness, that person will be our jailor. When we forgive, we take back control of our own fate and our feelings. We become our own liberator.

Forgiveness is the only way to heal ourselves and to be free from the past. Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We are bound to the chains of bitterness, tied together, trapped. Until we can forgive the person who harmed us, that person will hold the keys to our happiness, that person will be our jailor. When we forgive, we take back control of our own fate and our feelings. We become our own liberator.

It's like being dropped into a black hole. A vacuum of existence. When I turn around, I will be instantly orphaned because I'll know no one can hack it. And no one is in charge. But it's worse than being orphaned because at the same time I am tethered to his failure. His problems are tied around my heart. I will never get away. I am afraid. But I turn around.

Sentiment would undo her - each of its ties were a tether that would hold her from her purpose. Men, perhaps, might nourish both heart and mind; but for a woman there could be no such luxury. Had not Catherine drowned in the London air while practicing the virtues of love and obedience? How readily the rules of female behavior - gentleness, acquiescence, ever-mindfulness - turned to shackles.

Ghosts are real, this much I know. There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime. But there are others...others that hold on to an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge, or love. Those...they never go away.

ambition's range Is nowise tethered by domestic tie.

Then let me enlighten you,” he rasped. “I don’t only want you; I crave you.

She’d never smiled at me, and that fact alone made my blood boil. I didn’t care if she hated me or if I didn’t deserve it. I wanted it anyway.

There was no drawer she could put them in to give herself a rest, no hook she could tie their tethers to, to keep them in the world.

But instead I shared the fate of all girls who are poor of pocket: I was tied to my work, like a needle tethered by thread.

Immigrants chase success differently because we have something to prove to the people we left behind and the people who note our differences—our accent, our appearance, our religion, our culture—every day.

Walker Percy wrote that “modern man is estranged from being, from his own being, from the being of other creatures in the world, from transcendent being. He has lost something—what, he does not know; he only knows that he is sick unto death with the loss of it.” The mysterious, absent element is a deep and abiding immersion in communal ties. In all of its varied and protean forms, love is the tether binding our whirling lives.

I’m desperately in love with you,” he proclaimed with a pained smile. Hearing him say it aloud was different, rendering me speechless. Those six words seeped into me, becoming a part of me. “You love me?” I asked in wonder. “Infinitely,” he murmured. “And if all you ever did was hate me, I’d die a happy man knowing you felt something for me.

I had never felt that Egypt was really Africa, but now that our route had taken us across the Sahara, I could look down from my window seat and see trees, and bushes, rivers and dense forest. It all began here. The jumble of poverty-stricken children sleeping in rat-infested tenements or abandoned cars. The terrifying moan of my grandmother, ‘Bread of Heaven, Bread of Heaven, feed me till I want no more.’ The drugged days and alcoholic nights of men for whom hope had not been born. The loneliness of women who would never know appreciation or a mite’s share of honor. Here, there, along the banks of that river, someone was taken, tied with ropes, shackled with chains, forced to march for weeks carrying the double burden of neck irons and abysmal fear. In that large clump of trees, looking like wood moss from the plane’s great height, boys and girls had been hunted like beasts, caught and tethered together. Sacrificial lambs on the altar of greed. America’s period of orgiastic lynchings had begun on yonder broad savannah.

In Chinese myth, the old gods tie a red thread around the ankles of those who are destined to meet, who are meant to help one another. It’s a pretty thought, isn’t it?” “No,” Wallace said bluntly. “It’s a shackle. A chain.” “Or it’s a tether,” Hugo said, not unkindly. “Though I know it doesn’t seem like that to you now. It keeps you grounded while you’re here. It helps me to find you if you’re ever lost.

Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We are bound with chains of bitterness, tied together, trapped. Until we can forgive the person who harmed us, that person will hold the keys to our happiness; that person will be our jailor. When we forgive, we take back control of our own fate and our feelings. We become our own liberators. We don’t forgive to help the other person. We don’t forgive for others. We forgive for ourselves. Forgiveness, in other words, is the best form of self-interest. This is true both spiritually and scientifically

When she had taken his hand that day, the first time she had met him, she had felt—what? Something of which she had never known the like. Something she would never have expected to find in the hand of a clean-booted grammar-school boy from town. It was far-reaching: this much she knew. It had layers and strata, like a landscape. There were spaces and vacancies, dense patches, underground caves, rises and descents. There wasn’t enough time for her to get a sense of it all—it was too big, too complex. It eluded her, mostly. She knew there was more of it than she could grasp, that it was bigger than both of them. A sense, too, that something was tethering him, holding him back; there was a tie somewhere, a bond, that needed to be loosened or broken, before he could fully inhabit this landscape, before he could take command.

At last we see your advertisement. Viva ‘Agnes Tremorne’! We find it in ‘Orley Farm.’ How admirably this last opens! We are both delighted with it. What a pity it is that so powerful and idiomatic a writer should be so incorrect grammatically and scholastically speaking! Robert insists on my putting down such phrases as these: ‘The Cleeve was distant from Orley two miles, though it could not be driven under five.’ ‘One rises up the hill.’ ‘As good as him.’ ‘Possessing more acquirements than he would have learned at Harrow.’ Learning acquirements! Yes, they are faults, and should be put away by a first-rate writer like Anthony Trollope. It’s always worth while to be correct. But do understand through the pedantry of these remarks that we are full of admiration for the book. The movement is so excellent and straightforward — walking like a man, and ‘rising up-hill,’ and not going round and round, as Thackeray has taken to do lately. He’s clever always, but he goes round and round till I’m dizzy, for one, and don’t know where I am. I think somebody has tied him up to a post, leaving a tether.

From anywhere: where once he had feared that this immense city would set him adrift, a spinning atom in the ether, and where once he had seen in this the ultimate terror of insignificance, he now, and suddenly, and so clearly, saw that his fate had led him here. His fate had taken him off two trains this morning, had raised him to the surface at Whitehall Street, had shown him the spinning atoms, unraveling, the end of life, all of them people tethered by love, and habit, and work, and meaning, tied into a meaning suddenly exploded, because contrary to all he had imagined, being tied, being known, did not keep you safe. Quite the opposite: this, surely, was the meaning of Emerson, which he had so willfully and for so long misunderstood: great geniuses have the shortest biographies. Even their cousins know nothing about them. He had never been known rightly - how could he be, in the carapace of his ill-fitting names - but had thought that this imperfect knowledge was to be worked upon, bettered, but of course: mutability, precisely the capacity to spin like an atom, untethered, this thrill of absolute unknownness was not something to be feared. It was the point of it all. To be absolutely unrelated. Without context. To be truly and in every way self-reliant. At last.

Do you remember the time we tied a lasso to a tree limb and decided to swing across the creek like Tarzan?" Wyatt tipped up his frosty bottle and took a long pull. "Yeah." Zane was already laughing. "As usual,you two decided that I'd be the one to try it out first.That way,if it broke,I'd be the one tossed into the creek." "It stands to reason." Jesse chuckled. "You were the youngest. That's just the price you had to pay to hang out with us." "And," Wyatt added, "you were always willing to go along with whatever we decided." Zane shook his head. "Not when I used it to fly across the creek." "And not when I followed him," Wyatt said with a laugh. "But Jesse, assured that it was safe,grabbed hold and was flying through the air when the branch snapped." Amy looked over at her husband. "You landed in the creek?" "Yeah? On the day after one of our biggest storms,with the water spilling over its banks and rushing so fast it carried me downstream half a mile or more." She put a hand to her mouth to cover her shock and saw Cora do the same. Wyatt laughed. "He was lucky Zane and I had our horses tethered nearby.We chased along the banks of the creek until we could get far enough ahead to toss him a tree branch to catch. By the time we hauled him out,he looked like a drowned rat and was spitting mad." "I had a right to be.I swallowed half the creek." Zane laughed. "But think how lucky we were that it happened to you instead of me. At least you could swim." Marilee's eyes rounded. "They had you test the rope when they knew you couldn't swim?" Wyatt was laughing even harder. "We figured it was one way for him to learn." "How old were you?" They thought a minute before Wyatt answered. "I was eight,so that would make Jesse ten and Zane seven." "You could have all drowned." "Yeah.Looking back,we were lucky to have surrived so many foolish adventures. But," Wyatt added, "I wouldn't have missed a single one of them." of them

High, high in the Chinese hills, there was once a monastery where a distinguished Taoist guru lived with his disciples. In the evenings the monks would gather in the Great Hall to listen to their leader’s teachings and to meditate. But there was a stray cat that had adopted the monastery, and each evening it would follow the monks into the hall. It would mewl, scratch, and generally be annoying throughout their silent meditation. It did this every night until the great teacher became so irritated by it that he told his followers to put a collar on the cat and tether it on the far side of the monastery each evening. This worked well and, for a while, teacher, cat and monks all went through their nightly routine. One day, the learned teacher died. But the monks continued to tie up the cat each evening. More years passed. And eventually the cat died. So the monks went down to the nearest village, found a replacement cat, and tied it up each evening instead. Two centuries later, religious scholars write learned essays on the importance of tying up a cat prior to evening meditation. This is how much of cricket works.

Without forgiveness, we remain tethered to the person who harmed us. We are bound to the chains of bitterness, tied together, trapped. Until we can forgive the person who harmed us, that person will hold the keys to our happiness,

In that moment, something crystallized--all the vague uninformed feelings of a lifetime suddenly snapped into focus with an enhanced clarity. Everything is tethered to everything else. With people, it isn't gravity or cables--it's money, promises, blood and feelings. The tethers are all the owrds we use to tie each other down.Or up. And we whirl around and around, just like asteroids cabled together. From Stars (anthology) Riding Janis

In that moment, something crystallized--all the vague uninformed feelings of a lifetime suddenly snapped into focus with an enhanced clarity. Everything is tethered to everything else. With people, it isn't gravity or cables--it's money, promises, blood and feelings. The tethers are all the words we use to tie each other down. Or up. And we whirl around and around, just like asteroids cabled together. From Stars (anthology) Riding Janis

Well.” He blinked rapidly, his glare quivering under the strain of mine. “You’re stubborn.” He knifed the steak again. “Your mother didn’t mention that. Personally, I prefer my women to be a lot more . . .” He pondered, eyes narrowed and darting as if considering some vast complexity, and then his stare stilled on me, and he said: “Submissive.

Azere, how long before you settle down? How long? Or do you want to end up like Bridget Jones—single and in your late thirties? Is that the life you want for yourself? Eh?

Your cousin is pregnant. Pregnant and unwed.” Now, she’s jumping and wailing. “What will people say? Who else will they blame but me, her mother? What will I tell the pastor? What will I tell my prayer group? How will I face the world? Zere, you have ruined me. Prepare my grave. Because I am dead. You have killed

mean, the odds of marrying a Nigerian in Nigeria are incredibly high. And if this country is such a threat to our culture, you shouldn’t have brought me here. But you did. “You brought me to a country that has a culture of its own, a country that’s also home to people from all around the world, and you’ve expected

I have a tendency to overinflate. Overthink. Overstress. Over worry. Then, I find myself floating up into space, trapped within the chaos of my own mind. I might do that, with us.” “And I have a tendency to drown beneath the pressure of mine. So let us be the tether that ties each other back to earth.

And what of all those leafless trees? what has happened to the trees? And why have they tied cords between them? think you they will run away if not tethered? Never have I seen oaks so ashamed! Gwen eyed the neon sign above the inn and the telephone poles in way silence.

Although, I had to admit, a part of me took her for my own selfish reasons.

Does anyone else want to attempt hurting my wife in front of me? I have plenty more bullets,” Roman snapped, his voice booming as loud as the gunshot. The room was silent. “No? Then get the fuck out.

You’ve fallen in love with the girl. I could deny it all I wanted, but the way my blood pumped faster around her, the way my eyes searched for her in every room, the way I longed for her presence when she wasn’t near proved otherwise. I was in love with Aurora Bianchi.

I’m helplessly in love with every single part of you, Roman. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

Aurora didn’t know the only good part of me was her being my wife.

I wanted to bend and mold her to my will—corrupt her—and I would.

I stood in a stupor and would have continued to stand there were it not for a breeze that parted the smoke, revealing a sailor from the Vestal. It was Joe George. He had been following orders to cut the lines that tethered his ship to the Arizona so they could head to open waters. Since there was no one on the Arizona to help on our end, he was taking a fire ax and cutting the lines on his. We called to Joe through a seam in the smoke, motioning for him to throw us a monkey’s fist, which was a lightweight heaving line knotted around a metal ball and attached to a thicker rope. It was a long shot, but our desperate idea was that if we could secure a rope between the two ships, then perhaps we could make it to the Vestal. As Joe rummaged for the ball, I looked at my arms. A sheath of skin from each had peeled off and was draping them. I tore off one length of skin and threw it on the floor of the platform. Then the other. The remaining tissue was a webwork of pink and white and red, some of it black, all of it throbbing. But that didn’t matter. My focus narrowed to Joe George and the ball in his hand. He threw it, but it fell short. He gathered up the line and lobbed it again. Short once more. Joe was perhaps the strongest man in the harbor, an All-Navy boxer whom I described earlier as an “ox.” He was the only man with a prayer of getting that line to us—if he couldn’t do it, then it was impossible. The reality started to sink in: we were going to burn alive. Joe collected the rope once more. For a third time, he tossed it with all his strength. It sailed from one wounded ship to another, across flames, smoke, and carnage. I tracked it all the way and caught it in the air, pulling the smaller line until I felt the main rope. I tied the rope to the railing, cinching it tight, and Joe secured his end. The rope stretched seventy feet to span the water below us, which was forty-five feet down, slicked with fuel that had caught fire. Our only hope was to make it to the Vestal, hand over hand across the rope. But the flesh had been burned off all of our hands, and using those raw fingers and palms to get us across the chasm that separated us would be at best excruciating, and most likely impossible.

I felt tethered—wrapped in an invisible string that tied me to the Captain of the Destriers.

We are tied together. Tethered. Manacled. We cannot part. The longing hurts worse than any heartbreak I’ve endured—I think it’s because I know he’s as starved for me as I am for him.

She’s become the rock for me, the one person who is keeping my sanity tethered because if I didn’t have her, I’m sure I would be a screaming, raging mess by now.

she’s always had this effect on me. The ability to pull me out of my head just by chatting, or dancing, or resting a hand on my shoulder. It’s like she and I are tethered together, but she’s the strong one. The pillar. And when troubled waters wash me downstream, all I have to do is follow the rope that ties me back to her. It always leads me back to her.

desperately in love with you,” he proclaimed with a pained smile. Hearing him say it aloud was different, rendering me speechless. Those six words seeped into me, becoming a part of me. “You love me?” I asked in wonder. “Infinitely,” he murmured. “And if all you ever did was hate me, I’d die a happy man knowing you felt something for me.

It is a true soul tie. In the beginning, Chaos created us in pairs or more. The mark is a tether that pulls you back to each other. Once connected, it is beyond bliss, beyond ecstasy. Even the hard parts are no longer hard. The days become brighter. Everything is better because they exist—and when they are gone, the pain is immeasurable.

I was treading on a path to hell, but I found myself welcoming the devil in front of me.

I was tethered - wrapped in an invisible string that tied me to the Captain of the Destriers

More than two dozen kids lined a low railing around the gazebo. They were all tied to it by a rope leash that gave them no more than a few feet of movement. Neck to rail, like tethered horses. Each of the kids was weighed down by a concrete block that encased their hands. Their eyes were hollow, their cheeks caved in. Astrid used a word that Sam had never imagined coming from her. “Nice language,” Drake said with a smirk. “And in front of the Pe-tard, too.” A cafeteria tray had been placed in front of each of the prisoners. It must have been a very recent delivery because some were still licking their trays, hunched over, faces down, tongues out, licking like dogs. “It’s the circle of freaks,” Drake said proudly, waving a hand like a showman. In a crusty old wheelbarrow to one side, three kids were using a short-handled shovel to mix cement. It made a heavy sloshing sound. They dumped a shovelful of gravel into the mix and stirred it like lumpy gravy. “Oh, no,” Lana said, backing away, but one of the Coates kids smashed her behind the knee with his baseball bat, and she crumpled. “Gotta do something with unhelpful freaks,” Drake said. “Can’t have you people running around loose.” He must have seen Sam start to react because he stuck his gun against Astrid’s head. “Your call, Sam. You so much as flinch and we’ll get to see what a genius brain really looks like.” “Hey, I got no powers, man,” Quinn said. “This is sick, Drake. Like you’re sick,” Astrid said. “I can’t even reason with you because you’re just too damaged, too hopelessly messed up.” “Shut up.

Azere, I am here to talk about the path you are currently on.” “Path? What path?” “You are single.” She says it like it’s a terminal disease. “I don’t know what is wrong with you. I have introduced you to several eligible men, and yet, here you are. Maybe you are being influenced by these modern

So Roy's tears were understandable when he remembered tying animals to all those stakes. Such a cruel experiment had been performed on animals, of course, on sheep and pigs and cattle and horses and monkeys and ducks and chickens and geese, but surely not on a zoo such as Roy described. To hear him tell it, he had tethered peacocks and snow leopards and gorillas and crocodiles and albatrosses to the stakes. In his big brain, Bikini became the exact reverse of Noah's ark. Two of every sort of animal had been brought there in order to be atom-bombed.

Mara, I leave you not with my words but with the words of Emily Dickinson, my most beloved poet. I can think of no better way to call you to rise to the legacy which I bequeath to you. We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise; And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite Would be a daily thing, Did not ourselves the cubits warp For fear to be a king. Mara understood now what she would do. She would rise. She would let The Chrysalis glide with unfettered wings toward its own uncertain destiny, but she would not yet let the other Strasser paintings go. Each of the paintings told a story more layered and complex than its provenance alone could ever reveal—a story of the passions, hopes, and dreams of the artist, subject, patron, and owners. Mara would set out to uncover these paintings’ deeper lineages and tie the paintings to their past so they could achieve the full destinies that had been stolen from them. Like the Saint Peter of Michael’s etchings, who had been exhorted that “whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven,” she would tether their future to their past. thirty-six HAARLEM, 1662 THE BURGOMASTER SEES THEIR LONG GAZES.

Soft, flexible thread of this sort is a necessary prerequisite to making woven cloth. On a far more basic level, string can be used simply to tie things up - to catch, to hold, to carry. From these notions come snares and fishlines, tethers and leashes, carrying nets, handles, and packages, not to mention a way of binding objects together to form more complex tools.