"Shred" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And you—out there, probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite. I know you—and your ways. Also I know him—which is my ragged shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think better ...
— Far to Seek - A Romance of England and India • Maud Diver
... A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest, His host alarmed, his murmuring squires distressed: Their search extends along, around the path, In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath: But none are there, and not a brake hath borne Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn; Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass, Which still retains a mark where Murder was; Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, 760 The bitter print of each convulsive nail, When agonised hands that cease to guard, Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward. Some ...
— The Works Of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 (of 7) • Lord Byron
... tread upon human animals, In gentle oceans hunger-sharks fly. Heads, beers glisten in coffee-houses. Girls' screams shred on a man. Thunderstorms come crashing down. Forest winds darken. Women knead prayers in skinny hands: May the Lord God send an angel. A shred of moonlight shimmers in the sewers. Readers of books crouch quietly on their bodies. An evening dips the ...
— The Verse of Alfred Lichtenstein • Alfred Lichtenstein
... Pele's hair is a molten glass; threads of pumice: a stony froth. When a mighty blast occurs, or when steam escapes through the boiling mass, particles of pumice shred off in the upward flight, or are wire-drawn by winds that rage over the earth. These viscid threads cool quickly in that chill altitude, and float down again. They can be artificially made by passing jets of steam through the slag of iron furnaces while ...
— Myths & Legends of our New Possessions & Protectorate • Charles M. Skinner
... and why?' he said, as they paused, looking down upon the lake. 'There is not a shred of evidence. One can only dream. They were a madman's whim; incredibly rich in marble, and metal, and terra-cotta, paid for, no doubt, from the sweat and blood of this country-side. Then the young monster who ...
— Eleanor • Mrs. Humphry Ward
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