Then, when people saw you strolling around at high noon…

The translucence that comes when life hardens into a bead of such cruel perfection you see it with the purest clarity. Everything suddenly there--life…

— Sue Monk Kidd

slowly the pale dew-beads of light lapped up from flowers can thicken, darken to gold: honey of the human.

— Denise Levertov

You think you know yourself, the world. You believe you've got a bead on everybody else's bullshit, but what about your own?

— Sam Lipsyte

I think all writers are always collecting characters as we go along. Not just characters of course, we're collecting EVERYTHING. Bits and pieces of…

— Alexandra Sokoloff

Deciding to chant the mantra a certain number of times daily will help foster the japa habit. We should always keep a rosary with…

— Mata Amritanandamayi

We must always remember that God is Love. "A fool indeed is he who, living on the banks of the Ganga, seeks to dig…

— Swami Vivekananda

Every time some new huckster of angst-ridden metaphor is appointed by Art Forum, the congregation genuflects, stroking the catalog like a handful of Rosary…

— Abe Ajay

You know, if I cleaned out my backpack, which I don't really use anymore, I'd find a bunch of beads. I have a bunch…

— Pat Connaughton

SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on…

— Edna St. Vincent Millay

Reading a text is more like tracing this process of constant flickering than it is like counting the beads on a necklace.

— Terry Eagleton

Loyalty to God is alone fundamental. Feelings, words, deeds, must be beads strung on the string of duty. Let the world tell you in…

— Maltbie Davenport Babcock

closed my eyes and listened. It was like music I'd heard all my life, even more than "This Lullaby." All those keystrokes, all those…

— Sarah Dessen

A very special case. A few years more, and that pretty creature who you love too much, I think, will, without ever loving them,…

— Rachilde

Friendship, awareness, happiness, all of the arts of the good life, are brilliant beads strung on the golden cord of love.

— Anonymous

How guilt refined the methods of self-torture, threading the beads of detail into an eternal loop, a rosary to be fingered for a lifetime.

— Ian Mcewan