“The glance embroiders in joy, knits in pain, and sews in boredom.When indifferent, the eye takes stills, when interested, movies.Laughter is regional: a smile extends over the whole face.”

“I am to be converted to the joys of knitting,' said Mrs. Ali, smiling at the Major.'My condolences,' he said.”

“In that brief glance Vronsky has time to notice the restrained animation that played over her face and fluttered between her shining eyes and the barely noticeable smile that curved her red lips. It was as if a surplus of something so overflowed her being that it expressed itself beyond her will, now in the brightness of her glance, now in her smile. She deliberately extinguished the light in her her eyes, but it shone against her will in a barely noticeable smile.”

“If I can see pain in your eyes then share with me your tears. If I can see joy in your eyes then share with me your smile.”

“My sweet strawberry, Your frowning eyebrows, almond eyes, pomegranate lips and cherry nail fingers Does not make me love you limitless Nor your sweet smiles, lovely jokes, and charming glances It is you; that makes smile sweet, glances lovely and eyes gorgeousOver and over again I see thousands everyday smiling and frowning; But they all seem tasteless It is you, as always the most perfect and uniqueStrawberry!!!”

“There is a – let us say – a machine. It evolved itself (I am severely scientific) out of a chaos of scraps of iron and behold! – it knits. I am horrified at the horrible work and stand appalled. I feel it ought to embroider – but it goes on knitting. You come and say: “this is all right; it’s only a question of the right kind of oil. Let us use this – for instance – celestial oil and the machine shall embroider a most beautiful design in purple and gold”. Will it? Alas no. You cannot by any special lubrication make embroidery with a knitting machine. And the most withering thought is that the infamous thing has made itself; made itself without thought, without conscience, without foresight, without eyes, without heart. It is a tragic accident – and it has happened. You can’t interfere with it. The last drop of bitterness is in the suspicion that you can’t even smash it. In virtue of that truth one and immortal which lurks in the force that made it spring into existence it is what it is – and it is indestructible! It knits us in and it knits us out. It has knitted time space, pain, death, corruption, despair and all the illusions – and nothing matters. I’ll admit however that to look at the remorseless process is sometimes amusing.”