One un-vents something; one unearths it; one digs it up; one runs it down in whatever recesses of the eternal consciousness it has gone to ground.

Properly practiced, knitting soothes the troubled spirit, and it doesn't hurt the untroubled spirit either.

For people allergic to wool, one's heart can only bleed.

Knit on with confidence and hope through all crises.

Now, let us all take a deep breath and forge on into the future; knitting at the ready.

Really, all you need to become a good knitter are wool, needles, hands, and slightly below-average intelligence. Of course superior intelligence, such as yours and mine, is an advantage.

Really, handknitting is a dreamy activity, built into many people's thumbs and fingers by genes already there, itching to display their skills and achievement possibilities.

One tends to give one's fingers too little credit for their own good sense.

I can knit. I knit all year, day in, day out. It is my passion, and I rarely knit the same thing twice the same way.

I know that spinning sets me in a trance; it soothes me and charges my batteries at the same time. When times are tough I sit down to spin during the news-broadcasts, with therapeutic results.

By means of industry and perseverance you will rise higher and higher.

Liberalism is not fond of fun, or at least of many forms of fun that many people like.

The truest help we can render an afflicted man is not to take his burden from him but to call out his best energy that he may be able to bear the burden.

Normally, small talk is enough for me to form an opinion of someone. I make quick judgments, often completely wrong, and then stick by them rigidly.

Neither love nor fire can subsist without perpetual motion; both cease to live so soon as they cease to hope, or to fear.

The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grump-looking old man with a great deal of a long gray hair and a beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

Things are so hard to figure out when you live from day to day in this feverish and silly world.

The impact had cut your upper lip in two, he had said, clean down the middle. Clean down the middle. Like a harelip.

No matter what I say, honestly, people would only judge me the way they want to.

The beauty of self realization lies in secretly working out within you everything that is virtuous, that is beautiful, that is joyful.