Best 1350 quotes in «glasses quotes» category

He wanted to heave the glasses against the wall. Break them, break everything he could reach. Beat it, rend it. He stared out the window, imagined the city in flames, consumed to ashes. And still it wasn't enough.

He who lives by the crystal ball will eat shattered glass.

Hey bartender, hey man, look here. Give us one more, two more, three more glasses of beer.

High school taught me a valuable lesson about glasses: Don't wear them. Contacts have always seemed like too much work, so instead I just squint, figuring that if something is more than ten feet away, I'll just deal with it when I get there.

His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine glass spines.

History--the product, not the raw material--is a bottle with a label. For many years now, the emphasis of historical discussion has been laid upon the label (its iconography, its target-group of customers) and upon the interesting problems of manufacturing bottle-glass. The contents, on the other hand, are tasted in a knowing, perfunctory way and then spat out again. Only amateurs swallow them.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip, for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in.

Honey, Kate is not going to die sooner because you have one more glass of mine, or because you stay overnight in a hotel, or because you let yourself crack up at a bad joke. So sit your ass back down and turn up the volume and act like you're a normal person.

How do I look?" Amanda asked. Jack shook his head ruefully as he glanced at her. No one could mistake the remaining flush on her cheeks, or the soft sparkle of her eyes, or her lusciously swollen mouth, for anything other than the results of physical passion. "Like you've been ravished," he said flatly. She astonished him by smiling. "Hurry, please. I want to go inside my house and consult a looking glass. I've always wanted to know what a ravished woman looks like.

How many people have a family grave in the backyard? I'm sure I'll end up there, or I'll shrink my head and put it in a glass box in the living room. I'll get more tourists to Graceland that way.

How wisely fate ordain'd for human kind Calamity! which is the perfect glass, Wherein we truly see and know ourselves.

Human life--that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating. Compared to it there was nothing else of any value. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams.

Human understanding is fallible, and we see through a glass, darkly. Any religion is a shadow of God. But the shadows of God are not God.

I also taught myself how to blow glass using a propane torch from the hardware store and managed to make some elementary chemistry plumbing such as tees and small glass bulbs.

I always see the glass as half full and prefer to look on the bright side of life.

I always have two pairs of glasses: geeky black Warby Parker frames and Wayfarer Ray Bans. Those are key!

I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form. I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself. It doesn't exist out there. Maybe it's only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me.

I always think, after the second glass of wine, you should be putting something in your stomach.

I am lucky because my family are comfortably off. My father has his own glass business.

I am a positive person. I never think of the glass as half empty. I just keep pushing forward.

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves or figments of their imagination, indeed, everything and anything except me.

I am one of the sort that lives by throwing stones at other people's glass houses, but I never mean to put up one for them to stone.

I am single, I don't drink. It's kind of hard to get a woman buzzed when you don't drink. You'll be like, "Yeah, I'll have a glass of water, you want a shot of Jäger? You want eight of 'em?

I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

I am out in public and using the phone. I am in a phone booth, got the phone in my hand and a man taps on the glass and says You using the phone? Nope, I'm superman, i am just looking for my costume. Here's your sign!

I am the middle sister. The one in between. Not oldest, not youngest, not boldest, not nicest. I am the shade of gray, the glass half empty or full, depending on your view. In my life, there has been little that I have done first or better than the one preceding or following me. Of all of us, though, I am the only one who has been broken.

I am the woman with the cool vintage glasses... I am the proud wife beside her husband... I am the writer who has written a new novel.

I am troubled, immeasurably by your eyes. I am struck by the feather of your soft reply. The sound of glass speaks quick, disdain and conceals what your eyes fight to explain.

I am the passenger, I stay under glass. I look through my window so bright, I see the stars come out tonight. I see the bright and hollow sky, over the city's ripped backsides and everything looks good tonight.

I am trapped in glass and I want to break out and breath deep but I´m too afraid that it will hurt.

I am very short-sighted, and if I don't like a situation I take my glasses off.

I bear my testimony that there is no joy to be found in all this world like that of sweet communion with Christ. I would barter all else there is of heaven for that. Indeed, that is heaven. As for the harps of gold and the streets like clear glass and the songs of seraphs and the shouts of the redeemed, one could very well give all these up, counting them as a drop in a bucket, if we might forever live in fellowship and communion with Jesus.

I asked for a glass of Chardonnay. And in a 9/11-like twist, they didn't have any. They offered me Pinot.

I banned bottled water from my house - we have a water-filter system so you can drink from the tap. We always drink out of glass, and recycling is a huge deal, which everybody can partake in.

I believe that interpretation should be like a transparent glass, a window for the composer's music.

I benefit from the Mr. Potato Head syndrome. Put a wig and a nose and glasses on me, and I disappear.

Ibn Firnas was a polymath: a physician, a rather bad poet, the first to make glass from stones (quartz), a student of music, and inventor of some sort of metronome.

I believe the only limitations are the ones that we accept. I know that there is, in theory, a glass ceiling. But I don't believe that it's a solid wall. I'm going through it. Nothing's stopping me. Yes, there are these preconceived notions; yes, we have challenges. Let's accept them, let's not be afraid of them, let's break through them.

I built myself a house of glass:It took me years to make it:And I was proud. But now, alas!Would God someone would break it.

I bring you this stately matron named Christendom, returning bedraggled, besmirched, and dishonored from pirate raids in Kiao-Chow, Manchuria, South Africa, and the Phillipines, with her soul full of meanness, her pocket full of boodle, and her mouth full of pious hypocrisies. Give her soap and a towel, but hide the looking-glass.

I built a leprechaun trap that was made to look like a tiny hotel. There was a ramp where the leprechaun could walk into the hotel, see a Lego pot of gold on the other side, try to reach it, fall through a trap door, go through a tube, wind up in a biscuit tin, and be trapped. My mom, encouraging my madness, told me that the leprechaun might escape and that I needed a shot glass of whiskey down there to keep him occupied while he was in there.

I buy wine according to the bottle design. After I get down the first glass it all tastes okay to me so I figure you go for something classy to look at on the table

I bought me a spy-glass some weeks since. I buy but a few things, and those not till long after I begin to want them, so that when I do get them I am prepared to make a perfect use of them and extract their whole sweet.

I came from a background where I was very poor growing up but I have never known poverty. My parents worked hard and they went to bed hungry, but they fed us. Then my father became an ambassador, so I ended up being driven by chauffeurs. And then we became refugees. After that, I looked at it through this "glass" of to have and have not, and at the end of the day, who actually helps, who actually steps up, who is there for you.

I came from Bill Blass, where it was a well-oiled machine and if I said I needed a fabric, it was done. Now, I have to budget everything. I have to take on the role not just as a designer but a business. But Im a glass half-full kind of guy.

I can do this, I tell myself firmly. I can be attracted to him. It's just a matter of self control and possibly also getting very drunk. So I lift my glass and take several huge gulps. I can feel the bubbles surging into my head, singing happily "I'm going to be a millionaire's wife! I'm going to be a millionaire's wife!" And when I look back at Tarquin, he already looks a bit more attractive. Alcohol is obviously going to be the key to our marital status.

I can honestly say I love getting older. Then again, I never put my glasses on before looking in the mirror.

I can’t believe how much this place has grown,” Hazel muttered. The taxi driver grinned in the rearview mirror. “Been a long time since you visited, miss?” “About seventy years,” Hazel said. The driver slid the glass partition closed and drove on in silence.

I can see the beauty of glass objects fully at the moment when they slip from my hand

I can tell you where my Tonys are. They're in a beautiful place in my living room, in a glass cabinet.