The World Coming Down tour was around four years ago, and other than the wear and tear we've all sustained in the last four years, nothing much has changed.
People are just like farm equipment. They rust out quicker than they wear out.
I just wanted to see how the shorts felt again.
Corsets are always hard to wear.
If books were Persian carpets, one would not look only at the outer side. because it is the stitch that makes a carpet wear, gives it its life and bloom.
Even stone can be worn down with enough rain.
Time does nothing but hand you down shabbier and older things.
The iron ring is worn out by constant use. [Lat., Ferreus assiduo consumitur anulus usu.]
Much rain wears the marble.
I think if you're going to wear a red lip, you don't want it wearing you, so it's about finding the right colour.
I was fascinated with jeans, because you can impress your life upon the jeans you wear. The way you sit imprints on the jeans.
You know when you walk around in your shoes too much and get a hole in the sole? The rubber is split - it's like your shoes are talking.
All polishing is done by friction.
Fashion is comfort for me: being comfortable in what you are wearing. Because if you wear a designer gown and you aren't comfortable in it, it will show.
Pants get shiny even on a throne.
It is better to rust out than wear out.
I like to wear skirts long or short.
If you keep feeling a point that has been sharpened, the point cannot long preserve its sharpness.
For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls; Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, Exhaust the energy of strongest souls And numb the elastic powers.
Wear them, they will make you brave.
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Constant travel brings old age upon a man; a horse becomes old by being constantly tied up; lack of sexual contact with her husband brings old age upon a woman; and garments become old through being left in the sun.
If my jeans could talk, they'd plead for mercy.
Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the windowsill of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass.
