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Silver Quotes

Browse 1027 quotes about Silver.

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Silver Quotes

“¡Ah, la plata, la maldita plata! ¿Había algo más importante en la vida? Claro que no. Por la plata se mataban los hombres y por ella daban la vida. Ante ella se inclinaban papas y reyes, con ella soñaba el pobre, para ella vivía el rico, sin ella la vida era un páramo y tras ella corría todo el mundo. La plata era el placer, el poder y la gloria. ¿Qué era un hombre honrado y sin plata? Un cerdo a la izquierda. ¿Y qué era un hombre platudo y sin honra? El respeto y la virtud. Y en el peor de los casos, ¿qué importaba la deshonra, si se salvaba la plata?”

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Book:Los Hijos Del Incienso Y De La Pólvora
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“Ryne forestalled any possibility of righting matters, tossing her a fat coin and giving her a slap on the bottom to send her off. Lira offered him a dimpled smile as she slipped the silver into the neck of her dress, but she left sending smoky glances over her shoulder at Lan that made him sigh. If he tried to say no now, she might well pull a knife over the insult. 'So your luck still holds with women, too.' Ryne's laugh had an edge. Perhaps he fancied her himself. 'The Light knows, they can't find you handsome; you get uglier every year. Maybe I ought to try some of that coy modesty, let women lead me by the nose.”

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Book:New Spring
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“O Heavenly Children, God has blessed you all with many treasures that only the most purehearted already know. His fruitful garden is vast and without measure, and in your own very bodies, He has planted metals of copper, silver and gold.”

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Book:Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
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“One day we took the children to see a goldsmith refine gold after the ancient manner of the East. He was sitting beside his little charcoal fire. ("He shall sit as a refiner"; the gold- or silversmith never leaves his crucible once it is on the fire.) In the red glow lay a common curved roof tile; another tile covered it like a lid. This was the crucible. In it was the medicine made of salt, tamarind fruit and burnt brick dust, and imbedded in it was the gold. The medicine does its appointed work on the gold, "then the fire eats it," and the goldsmith lifts the gold out with a pair of tongs, lets it cool, rubs it between his fingers, and if not satisfied puts it back again in fresh medicine. This time he blows the fire hotter than it was before, and each time he puts the gold into the crucible, the heat of the fire is increased; "it could not bear it so hot at first, but it can bear it now; what would have destroyed it then helps it now." "How do you know when the gold is purified?" we asked him, and he answered, "When I can see my face in it [the liquid gold in the crucible] then it is pure.”

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Book:Gold Cord
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“The moon is shining brighter tonight, touching the entire village with its soft silver light; the houses are half awake and the sky is half asleep, with its sparkling yellowish stars scattered and spread across it, like a large bright night cloak. Little and fragile plants’ silhouettes are beautifully staining the skyline and dancing to the silent sound of the winter breeze.”

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Book:The Beauty of Every Day
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“Wendell was no sooner gazing at the silver sewing needles than he was brushing away a tear. "They are like my father's," he said wonderingly. "I remember the flicker of them in the darkness as we all sat together by the ghealach fire, with the trees surrounding us. He would bring them everywhere, even the Hunt of the Frostveiling---that is the first hunt of autumn, the largest of the year, when even the queen and her children roam through the wilds with spears and swords, riding our best---oh, I don't know what you would call them in your language. They are a kind of faerie fox, black and golden together, which grow larger than horses. My brothers and sisters and I would crowd round the fire to watch him weave nets from brambles and spidersilk. And all the moorbeasts and hag-headed deer would cower at the sight of those nets, though they barely blinked at the whistle of our arrows." He fell silent, gazing at them with his eyes gone very green. "Well," I said, predictably at a loss for an answer to this, "I hope they are of use to you. Only keep them away from any garments of mine." He took my hand, and then, before I knew what he was doing, lifted it to his mouth. I felt the briefest brush of his lips against my skin, and then he had released me and was back to exclaiming over his gifts. I turned and went into the kitchen in an aimless haste, looking for something to do, anything that might distract me from the warmth that had trailed up my arm like an errant summer breeze”

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Book:Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries
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“Success is not reserved for a selected group of people who have silver spoons in their mouths. Those who have golden spoons in their hands can equally be satisfied by guiding their faiths to feed their dreams”

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Book:The Great Hand Book of Quotes
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“Avoid trying to win tough battles on the silver platter. If the struggle is tough the success is sweet.”

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Book:Leaders' Frontpage: Leadership Insights from 21 Martin Luther King Jr. Thoughts
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“A strange landscape stared back at her. Delphine gasped and let the tree support her weight as she slowly took in the sight of of the forest drawn tight around the ring of moss surrounding the linden. The trees were skeletal and pale as bone, branches gnarled and twining in complicated knotwork that might have been intentionally woven or might have been the wild striving of trees reaching for the sky. There were no leaves, but a thick hoarfrost of silver coated every branch, every twig, every barren bud. Bracken grew tangled at the roots of the trees; it, too, was layered in sparkling pale beauty. The ground was covered in the same thick silver, which Delphine slowly appreciated was not cold at all, but still as fragile and sharp as frost. No grass grew on the ground, only a thick carpet of the same moss surrounding the tree. The silver didn't pass through the circle, fading to a film near the green encircling the linden tree.”

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Book:The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill
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“For now, to keep myself sane, let me focus instead on the bluebells carpeting the forest floor; the misty sunlight that broke through the clouds, blurring the edges of things and turning the world to watercolors. The occasional glint of silver from the treetops. These are indeed baubles--- I climbed up into one of the oaks to check--- but larger than the ones mortals place on Yuletide trees, globes of delicate silver, hollow and light as eggshells. Something about them put me in mind of faerie stones, and I hastily released the bauble to drift back into the trees, among which it hovered like a puff of mist, disdaining the notion of gravity.”

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Book:Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands
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