Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Linen. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Linen Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Socrates,Sarah J. Maas,Miriam Schapiro,Cassandra Clare,Nalini Singh for you to enjoy and share.
Through your rags I see your vanity.
A snap of Rhys's fingers, and my nightclothes - and some flimsy underthings - appeared on the bed. "I couldn't decide which scrap of lace I wanted you to wear, so I brought you a few to choose from."
"Pig," I barked
I question the negative connotations of fabric, of ribbon, of lace. I turn these symbols of our imprisonment around.
Steel under silk
Where's the lace?Lace-- Nalini Singh
Fall the deep curtains,
delicate the weave,
fair the thread.
The saga of semen stained sheets continues.
Americans believe cotton is best, but we've invented new fabrics that will change your lifestyle.
Oh, my tattered rags are caught on your coffee table.
I have pulled threads from magic tapestries already woven and used them to weave my own cloth.
You never realize how much of your background is sewn into the lining of your clothes.
One day, a new fabric appeared on the scene. PVC was shiny, waterproof, and unlike anything I'd ever seen before.
Denim and doubt, cotton and caution, fell to the floor in a forgotten heap
Let me just tell you this: I love polyester.
The reel of silk has run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew there would come a knot and a puzzle: here it is.
There is a sensuality about fabric. I think all materials should be inviting when they touch the skin. When I watch children stroking their mother's clothes, I feel that I have succeeded.
Saracen had finished his barley and was happily chewing at the corner of a sheet that had been spread across a hedge to dry. He had once discovered a tablecloth, and ever since had been optimistic about the effects of dragging cloths off the top of things.
Silks, velvets, calicoes, and the whole lexicon of female fopperies.
To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
The kimono, haori, and girdle, and even the long hanging sleeves, have only parallel seams, and these are only tacked or basted, as the garments, when washed, are taken to pieces, and each piece, after being very slightly stiffened, is stretched upon a board to dry.
The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.
Chains of iron or of silk-both are chains.
No lace. No lace, Mrs. Bennett, I beg you!
There is lace in every living thing: the bare branches of winter, the patterns of clouds, the surface of water as it ripples in the breeze ... Even a wild dog's matted fur shows a lacy pattern if you look at it closely enough.
The cloth shivers in the ocean wind, held down by plates and cutlery.
Neverwinter Wood.
Bed sheet, if you please. I'll leave my dignity here.
I feel best in soft and natural materials such as cotton and silk. I wear collections from all designers. They all have outstanding cuts and extremely pleasant materials.
...she wears a summer nightgown, white cotton trimmed with a token bit of lace at the neck and sleeves. She dislikes the itchiness of the lace against her skin, the sense of delicate entrapment.
He was clad in stylish pale linen and had a squashy packet of Gallic fags jutting from his breast pocket.
Our underwear used to just be cotton, but we wanted to see if we could create something out of synthetics.
Very few designers today design - it's very important to be able to do your own sketch on paper and then explain [your vision] to the fabric cutters. Instead, lots of designers drape - it's the new way.
After enlightenment, the laundry.
Pride of place in my wardrobe is an Edwardian-style Norfolk Jacket in Derby Tweed. It is silk-lined with leather-clad buttons and has a smell that reminds me of wet moss and fallen leaves.
I came from rainbow fabric; I drank textile ink as mothers' milk. I learned to sew before I could walk. I could never become a nun, purely because of the boring fashion choices.
I'm a fan of parchment and wood pulp.
Truly, one gets easier accustomed to a silken bed than to a sack of leaves.
Our clothing, while modest and simple, should be of good quality ... It should be chosen for durability rather than display.
I tugged at the hem of my brand-new Hecate Hall issue blue plaid skirt (Kilt? Some sort of bizarre skirt/kilt hybrid? A skilt?)
When you wear a tattered cloth to a banquet of the honorable, you look weird
I travel a lot, and I hunt for fabrics, then I have the tailor make me something.
Satin skin, silk hair, velvet eyes, sawdust heart - all complete.
of those clothes.
A horse blanket, Mel?
I remembered what I was wearing. 'It tore in half when Hrani tried washing it. She was going to mend it. This piece was too small for a horse, but it was just right for me.'
Bran laughed a little unsteadly. 'Mel. A horse blanket.
Nothing is contrived. At night, the clothes should pour like liquid over the body.
Satin and lace and brown velvet and the faint odor of violets. That was all which was left to him of his love.
The world is a palace without bedsheets
Ned was clad in a white linen doublet with the direwolf of Stark on the breast; his black wool cloak was fastened at the collar by his silver hand of office. Black and white and grey, all the shades of truth.
A bullet will bounce off its arachnofiber weave like a wren hitting a patio door, but excess perspiration wafts through it like a breeze through a freshly napalmed forest.
Underneath his steal and wool and boiled leather, Jaime Lannister was a tapestry of cuts and scabs and bruises.
We are all clothed with fleece of sheep I keep saying as if
I were singing as these words do. Throw a shawl over me
so you won't be afraid to sleep. I have already shown that
space is God.
Like faint flowers in the diaphonous fabrics of the twenties: beautiful, trivial fabrics so flimsy they could not hope to last?
people; 'Manners like a creased polyester shirt
You might think the word "homemade" is just a word we use as a marketing ploy. But what you don't realize is that the staff sleeps here at night. If your tablecloth is wrinkled, that's why.
And who the hell came up with jeans? Tamani continued darkly. Heavy, sweltering fabric? You're seriously telling me the race that invented the internet couldn't create a fabric better than denim? Please!
I love playing around with vintage fabrics and lace.
Garments are our second skin, and the truer of the two for being the one we choose.
There are no more white linen sofas in my house. We have a rule here: Anything below 36 inches has to be brown or black - the color of chocolate or peanut butter!
skin the off-white of a dirty motel sheet.
I'm quite tactile, so I like fabrics that feel good. I try to avoid fabrics that crease - especially with my son. When you have a child, that's important. A great pair of a jeans, a t-shirt and some loafers, that's what I always wear.
Virtue shows quite as well in rags and patches as she does in purple and fine linen.
Acid washed denim was never my favorite.
He feels like velvet,
Claire coaxed free another loop of cloth. The slow side of cotton against cotton matched the soft tenor or her voice.
'I have lots of talents Mr. Ryland. Listening is only one of them.
A pair of brilliantly cut cotton trousers can be more beautiful than a gorgeous silk gown ...
Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,
Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam
And clear dances done in the sight of heaven.
Concurring hands divide
flax for damask
that when bleached by Irish weather
has the silvered chamois-leather
water-tightness of a
skin.
You niggas so-so like a seamstress.
A white linen tablecloth
edged with pink roses --
Mama's favorite pattern --
flowed like a bride's train
from sidewalk to curb to gutter.
Papa stared at black boot marks
crossing it like sins.
The laundry has its hands on my dirty shirts, sheets, towels and tablecloths, and who knows what tales they tell.
Artistic license sneered through the thin fabric.
thin materials, or in conjunction with flat stitch. Twisted knot
Love is like linen, often changed, the sweeter.
Irish lace, hanging in the windows, filters the afternoon light, softening the lines on her face.
to describe. It still felt like paper, of course - a medium
Belt leather. Black pepper. Fine lace and bright feather. Tinker in town tonight, gone tomorrow. Working through the evening light. Come wife. Come daughter, I've small cloth and rose water.
How many threadbare souls are to be found under silken cloaks and gowns!
When you quilting up a life, you sometimes got to start with any piece you can get your hands on.
A commission of haberdashers could alone have reported what
the rest of her poor dress was made of, but it had a strong general
resemblance to seaweed, with here and there a gigantic tea-leaf.
Her shawl looked particularly like a tea-leaf after long infusion.
As a designer, I like to work with fabrics that don't bleed; that's why I avoid all animal skins.
Joy and woe are woven fine.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
He said that a men's work cloths are the only real cloths he has.
Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all.
True, I tore the drapery from the altar; but it was to dress the wounds of the country.
Where do you even buy a black lace handkerchief? Widows R Us?
If we rub a fabric too often, it will quickly grow threadbare; and Nobu's words had rasped against me so much, I could no longer maintain that finely lacquered surface Mameha had always counseled me to hide behind.
Maybe I'll make a huge color tapestry from my belly button lint.
Someday in heaven, when the angels all sing, well, these rags that I'm wearing will be fit for a king.
Chamfron. Crimson silk draped his hindquarters,
All the rare and royal names
Wormy sheepskin yet retains
Pale-gray rug. Several pieces of chrome-and-black-leather
An eye-jangling assortment of spurious clan tartans, adorning every conceivable object made of fabric, from caps, neckties, and serviettes down to a particularly horrid yellow "Buchanan" sett used to make men's nylon Y-front underpants.
It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
I shall lie folded like a saint,
Lapped in a scented linen sheet,
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
Narrow and cold and neat.
One who dresses in rags that have been washed clean dresses cleanly to be sure, but raggedly nonetheless.
His soul's fabric was weaving itself with mine. I loved the frayed ends where it came unraveled, and I loved the strength at its firm, solid center.
I loved every thread.
And the very folds of the curtains contained secrets and sighs.
The clothes felt like something more: fine chain-mail armor handmade to fit me, or robes laid out ready for some fiercely secret ceremony. They made my palms tingle when I touched them.
I like the rough feel of denim against my pussy. Even more after rough sex.