Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Rafters. 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 Rafters Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including Chris Jericho,Libba Bray,Mark Twain,K.a. Stevens,Rick Riordan for you to enjoy and share.
We both liked the idea but couldn't figure out a way to get up to the roof. Vince had just seen the Spider-Man movie and suggested we shoot webs out of our wrists and swing up there. We asked Vince not to contribute any more ideas.
As one, they leap, laughing, and that is where we leave them - mouths open, arms spread wide, fingers splayed to take in the whole world, bodies flying high in defiance of gravity, as if they will never fall.
A raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them,
The only ceiling that's over my head is the one I put there.
Stupid rock gods!" Leo yelled from the helm. "That's the third time I've had to replace that mast! You think they grow on trees?"
Nico frowned. "Masts are from trees."
"That's not the point!
What are men to rocks and mountains?
Artists like Bach and Beethoven erected churches and temples on the heights. I only wanted ... to build dwellings for men in which they might feel happy and at home.
And while Luce dreamed below of the most glorious wings unfurling-the likes of which she'd never seen before-two angels in the rafters shook hands.
You don't ask questions of an attic
we will put the Howards so high they can never fall.
Courtesy which oft is found in lowly sheds, with smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls and courts of princes, where it first was named.
The high ones die, die. They die. You look up and who's there?
They later moved to a tin-roof house that was situated in a gas field under a spectacular flare that burned all the time. Big copper-green beetles the size of mice came from all over the Southland to see it and die in it. At night their corpses pankled down on the tin roof.
CASTLES IN THE AIR Laurie
Gods and Thunders!
From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
Where can we find greater structural clarity than in the wooden buildings of old? Where else can we find such unity of material, construction and form? here, the wisdom of whole generations is stored.
And on every rooftop stood unimaginably tall television antennae. These silver feelers groped about in the air, in defiance of the mountains that formed a backdrop to the town.
Towers in a modern town are a frill and a survival; they seem like the raised hands of the various churches, afraid of being overlooked, and saying to the forgetful public, Here I am! Or perhaps they are rival lightning rods, saying to the emanations of divine grace, Please strike here!
Winds with little fishhooks at the end of every gust.
they propound mathematical theorems in beleaguered cities, conduct metaphysical arguments in condemned cells, make jokes on scaffolds.
But who can resist the seductions of elevators these days, those stepping stones to Heaven, which make relentless verticality so alluring?
Of jackets that had their sleeves threaded onto two poles cut from an ash tree
Hobbies take place in the cellar and smell of airplane glue.
There are high places that don't invite us, sharp shapes, glacier-scraped faces, whole ranges whose given names slip off. Any such relation as we try to make refuses to take ... I'm giddy with thinking where thinking can't stick.
No Names
The space reminded me of the small hay-bale clubhouses and scrap-wood tree forts that my brothers and I had made as kids - high up spaces where you could see things differently, where you could get your bearings.
When the shingles hissed
in the rain incendiary,
other values were revealed to us
What are the children of men, but as leaves that drop at the wind's breath?
My heaviness comes from the heights.
Men have torn up the roads which led to Heaven, and which all the world followed; now we have to make our own ladders.
Trees hang their branches
Every ceiling reached becomes a floor.
We sleepwalkers of the day! We artists! We who conceal naturalness! We who are moon- and God-struck! We untiring wanderers, silent as death, on heights that we see not as heights but as our plains, as our safety.
My earth is somebody's ceiling
Without the fear of heights, there can be no appreciation for the beauty of high places. At
We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven, curtain round the vault of heaven.
In a storm there is no shelter like the wings of God.
pilaster, probably meant to anchor a
Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise. By mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies? Heav'n still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
HOME, which is the last floor for everyone.
The roof might fall in; anything could happen.
A tree there towere Tall and branching That house upholding The hall's wonder Its leaves their hangings Its limbs rafters Its mighty bole In the midst standing.
I have friends wherever there are companies of trees, wounded but not vanquished, which huddle together with touching obstinancy to implore an inclement and pitiless sky.
And the wind, the wind! The bare birches and cherry-trees, unable to endure its rude caresses, bowed low down to the ground and wailed: God, for what sin hast Thou bound us to the earth and will not let us go free?
Up above, we will defend the life of the trees and the mountains from further devastation. Down below [in the towns], we will spread death and mercy.
The living sinners on deadly ground.
"If we are truly the Lord's, we all walk with a limp" ~R. Alan Woods [2012]
*Note: 'Jacobs Ladder'.
What is a roofless cathedral
to a well-built pie?
If the wind doesn't blow...row
This is where they keep the dreams about the end of the world, according to the inhabitants of places where the winters are very windy.
High sprits they had: gravity they flouted.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
Many men build as cathedrals are built-the part nearest the ground finished, but that part which soars toward heaven, the turrets and the spires, forever incomplete.
[My father] had a name for the bottom of the sky
'the hem of heaven.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
I wrote a great deal of a novel, 'Winter's Tale,' on the roof of a Brooklyn Heights tenement on Henry Street. I was a technical climber, and now and then I would put down my manuscript and get up to walk along parapets and climb walls and chimneys.
A ladder's a flag pole with delusions of grandeur.
The Looming Tower.
The floor is made of condensed air, so we are suspended above a mile vertical drop.
In another country where the buildings don't stop rising until they pinthe clouds to the sky.
Every roof is agreeable to the eye, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women, and hard-eyed husbands.
When levitation fails, a ladder prevails.
The tallest Trees are most in the Power of the Winds, and Ambitious Men of the Blasts of Fortune.
For those who are on the roof become insolent as they don't know yet about the slope and the slipperiness of the roof!
the base of the cliff. All
It's lonely up in the top
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.
I'm raised from gutter to protect another gutter
The gondola of London [a hansom].
the cottage lights
Carrying that lumber the forty meters from the forest had left his knuckles blistered, his underarms sopping, but now a few hours of flames had lifted what had taken him months to design, weeks to carry, days to build, all but the nails and rivets, all but the hinges and bolts, all into the sky.
Where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?
The higher one sits, the greater the fear of fall.
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
What is more dramatic, even romantic, than the tumbled towers of lower Manhattan, rising suddenly to the clouds like a magic castle girdled by water? Its very touch of jumbled jaggedness, its towering-sided canyons, are its magnificence.
Ducking around twisted trees whose fingers are branches spread like cracked ceilings under gray sky.
Dance till the stars come down from the rafters
Dance, Dance, Dance 'till you drop.
We lived in the Portland Avenue Stacks, a sprawling hive of discolored tin shoeboxes rusting on the shores of I-40, just west of Oklahoma City's decaying skyscraper core.
hot-water tanks, lashed to one another with straps of steel like comrades in a doomed adventure.
At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles. Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town, they say. Depart immediately to open country.
Letter 84
An elephant with his trunk raised is a ladder to the stars.
A breaching whale is a ladder to the bottom of the sea.
My photographs are a ladder to my dreams.
These letters are ladders to you.
Rain was roaring on the tin roof now, and lightning struck close by, blue-white and sharp with ozone. We rode it together, forked and light-blind, breathless, and the thunder rolled through our bones.
Castles in the air - they are so easy to take refuge in. And so easy to build too.
The weathercocks on spires and housetops were mysterious with hints of stormy wind, and pointed, like so many ghostly fingers, out to dangerous seas, where fragments of great wrecks were drifting, perhaps, and helpless men were rocked upon them into a sleep as deep as the unfathomable waters.
Trackers and hunters sworn to deepwood with clan names like Forrester and Woods, branch and bole.
Ten masts make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell.
Thy life's a miracle.
Our glories float between the earth and heaven
Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun,
And are the playthings of the casual wind.
There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!
At home, they'd clipped my wings and then caged me so I couldn't fall. Here, they bandaged one another's broken wings, helped each other fly.
They climbed their ladders to wheedle and prune the trees into holiness
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam ... and after a while they will fall to dust and rain; or else we will tear them down with impatient hands; and hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
These three children own the summer. They know the wood as surely as they know the microlandscapes of their own grazed knees;put them down blindfolded in any dell or clearing and they could find their way out without putting a foot wrong.
Ordinary people can never fall over the walls, because they never dare climb high enough to see what is beyond the walls.
If you can't stand the storm, fly above it.
If you're at the top, then brace for the fall.
Sanctuary, home of the Howlers and stragglers of the Were universe. (Damien)
screws on the cowlings. Only a divine miracle
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze ...
I pass my life in preventing the storm from blowing down the tent, and I drive in the pegs as fast as they are pulled up.