Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.
Is there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider's web?
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
A spider lives inside my head Who weaves a strange and wondrous web Of silken threads and silver strings To catch all sorts of flying things, Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles And specks of dried-up tears, And dust of dreams that catch and cling For years and years and years...
There is nothing to fear but fear itself. And spiders. ~Bumper sticker~
These decrees of yours are no different from spiders' webs. They'll restrain anyone weak and insignificant who gets caught in them, but they'll be torn to shreds by people with power and wealth.
In the spider-web of facts, many a truth is strangled.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
Will you walk into my parlour? Said the spider to a fly: '"Tis the prettiest little parlour That ever you did spy.
I never kill insects. If I see ants or spiders in the room, I pick them up and take them outside. Karma is everything.
There are spiders living comfortably in my house while the wind howls outside. They aren't bothering anybody. If I were a fly, I'd have second thoughts, but I'm not, so I don't.
The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.
It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
The men of experiment are like the ant, they only collect and use; the reasoners resemble spiders, who make cobwebs out of their own substance. But the bee takes the middle course, it gathers its material from the flowers of the garden and field, but transforms and digests it by a power of its own.
Experience is never limited, and it is never complete
The difference between utility and utility plus beauty is the difference between telephone wires and the spider web.
I was thinking, I could turn him into a fly and drop him into a spider's web and watch him tangled and helpless and struggling, shut into the body of a dying buzzing fly; I could wish him dead until he died.I could fasten him to a tree and keep him there until he grew into the trunk and bark grew over his mouth. if he was under the ground I could walk over him stamping my feet.
Like delicate lace, so the threads intertwine, oh, gossamer web of wond'rous design! Such beauty and grace wild nature produces... Ughh, look at that spider suck out that bug's juices!
Much like a subtle spider which doth sit In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, She feels it instantly on every side.
My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
I have lived eighty years of life and know nothing for it, but to be resigned and tell myself that flies are born to be eaten by spiders and man to be devoured by sorrow.
... with men it's rush, rush, rush, every minute. I'm glad I'm a sedentary spider." "What does sedentary mean?" asked Wilbur. "Means I sit still a good part of the time and don't go wandering all over creation. I know a good thing when I see it, and my web is a good thing. I stay put and wait for what comes. Gives me a chance to think.
There was less than I’d expected in the rainy-day fund that Mom had kept in the bottom of an underwear drawer in a panty hose egg labeled ‘DEAD SPIDERS.’ As if I hadn’t always known it was there. As if I wouldn’t want to look at dead spiders.
Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so slightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
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