Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
A rich man’s body is like a premium cotton pillow, white and soft and blank. ‘’Ours’’ is different. My father’s spine was a knotted rope, the kind that women use in villages to pull water from wells; the clavicle curved around his neck in high relief, like a dog’s collar; cuts and nicks and scars, like little whip marks in his flesh, ran down his chest and waist, reaching down below his hip bones into his buttocks. The story of a poor man’s life is written on his body, in a sharp pen.aravind adiga
If all hearts were open and all desires known as they would be if people showed their souls how many gapings, sighings, clenched fists, knotted brows, broad grins, and red eyes should we see in the market-place!thomas hardy
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an-end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.william shakespeare
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.Alexander Pope
Sci-fi can be succinctly defined as speculation, whether based on established scientific facts or on logical pseudo-facts consistent with the framework of the fiction in question, involving smelly green pimply aliens furiously raping or eating, or both, beautiful naked bare-breasted chicks, covering them in slime, red, oozing, living slime, dribbling from every horrific orifice, squeezing out between bulbous pulpy lips onto the sensuous velvety skin of the writhing sweating slave-girls, their bodies cut and bruised by knotted whips brandished by giant blond vast-biceped androids called Simon, and written in the Gothic mode.Peter nicholls
There is a Thorn, it looks so old, In truth, you'd find it hard to say How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and gray. Not higher than a two years child It stands erect, this aged Thorn; No leaves it has, no prickly points; It is a mass of knotted joints, A wretched thing forlorn. It stands erect, and like a stone With lichens is it overgrown.william wordsworth
(...) From the grove comes The whole company, carrying all variously, caskets, Kerchiefs knotted at corners, or small wicker baskets Full of mushrooms; young ladies displayed in one hand The imposing boletus , a well-folded fan, In the other hand, tied like a field-flower posy, Carried tree-and-mulch mushrooms, brown, ochre, and rosy.