Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible; Shakespeare 's plays, for instance, seem to hang there complete by themselves. But when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in midair by incorporeal creatures, but are the work of suffering human beings, and are attached to the grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in.
A good simulation, be it a religious myth or scientific theory, gives us a sense of mastery over experience. To represent something symbolically, as we do when we speak or write, is somehow to capture it, thus making it one's own. But with this appropriation comes the realization that we have denied the immediacy of reality and that in creating a substitute we have but spun another thread in the web of our grand illusion.Heinz R(udolf) Pagels
Soon round us spread the hills and dales,Where GEOFFREY spun his magic tales,And call'd them history. The landWhence ARTHUR sprung, and all his bandOf gallant knights. Sire of romance,Who led the fancy's mazy dance,Thy tales shall please, thy name still be,When Time forgets my verse and me.robert bloomfield
Perhaps the author cited is one of those, who, shunning the practice of the world, have taught the world to shun return! whose poetry is too finely spun, whose philosophy is too and mystified for popular demand: perhaps we have experienced feeling which Mr. Wordsworth alludes to, in a poem worthy of simplicity and loneliness of the sentiment "Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure; Sighed to think I read a book Only read perhaps by me! "samuel laman blanchard
IT tossed and tossed, A little brig I knew, O’ertook by blast, It spun and spun, And groped delirious, for morn. It slipped and slipped, As one that drunken stepped; Its white foot tripped, Then dropped from sight. Ah, brig, good-night To crew and you; The ocean’s heart too smooth, too blue, To break for you.
Your rights reach down where all owners meet, in Hell's Pointed exclusive conclave, at earth’s centre (Your spun farm's root still on that axis dwells); And up, through galaxies, a growing sector.william empson
But, as it is, this pied collection begs your indulgence it's been spun from threads both sad and humoristic, themes popular or idealistic, products of carefree hours, of fun, of sleeplessness, faint inspirations, of powers unripe, or on the wane, of reason's icy intimations, and records of a heart in pain.aleksandr pushkin
My mind spun for a second before it drifted, and in that second I knew that of all pleasures a drink of cold water when you are thirsty, liquor when you are not, sex, a cigarette after many days without one there is none of them can compare with sleep. Sleep is best....roger zelazny
But, as it is, this pied collection begs your indulgence it's been spun from threads both sad and humoristic, themes popular or idealistic, products of carefree hours, of fun, of sleeplessness, faint inspirations, of powers unripe, or on the wane, of reason's icy intimations, and records of a heart in pain.
From fibers of pain and hope and trouble And toil and happiness, one by one, Twisted together, or single or double, The varying thread of our life is spun. Hope shall cheer though the chain be galling; Light shall come though the gloom be falling; Faith will list for the Master calling Our hearts to his rest, when the day is done.
Cotton has been spun, woven, and dyed since prehistoric times. It clothed the people of ancient India, Egypt , and China . Hundreds of years before the Christian era, cotton textiles were woven in India with matchless skill, and their use spread to the Mediterranean countries.
The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun.michael bruce
Of threads of palm was the carpet spun Whereon he kneels when the day is done, And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one! To him the palm is a gift divine, Wherein all uses of man combine, House and raiment and food and wine! And, in the hour of his great release, His need of the palms shall only cease With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. "Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm, On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; "Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!"john greenleaf whittier