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“But the trouble with sainthood these days is the robe-and-halo imagery that gets stuck onto it." Carl got that brooding look again. "People forget that robes were street clothes once... and still are, in a lot of places. And halos are to that fierce air of innocence what speech balloons in comics are to the sound of the voice itself. Shorthand. But most people just see an old symbol and don't bother looking behind it for the meaning. Sainthood starts to look old-fashioned, unattainable... even repellent. Actually, you can see it all around, once you learn to spot it.”
― Diane Duane, A Wizard Alone

“ViaÈ›a noastră e ca o călătorie pe pământ: prea uÈ™oară È™i monotonă de-a lungul întinselor câmpii, prea dură È™i neplăcută pe pantele abrupte; dar pe înălÈ›imile munÈ›ilor te bucuri de o priveliÈ™te minunată, te simÈ›i exaltat, ochii se umplu de lacrimi, ai vrea să cânÈ›i, ai vrea să ai aripi. Dar nu poÈ›i să rămâi acolo, trebuie să-È›i continui călătoria È™i începi să cobori pe partea cealaltă, atât de preocupat să alegi locul în care să-È›i pui piciorul încât uiÈ›i plăcerea încercată pe culmi”
― Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe

“E greu să-È›i imaginezi lumea fără un creator, dar prefer să nu-mi închipui că faptele oamenilor sunt inspirate de fiinÈ›e supranaturale. ÃŽmi place mai mult să cred că oamenii È™i-au inventat brutalitatea fără ajutor divin.”
― Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe

“Cauza necazurilor noastre nu se află în jilÈ›ul guvernului, ci în imediata apropiere, în trib, în familie, în noi înÈ™ine.”
― Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe

“Nimic nu-i mai rău pentru caracterul omului decât să fi mândru de faptele tale bune. Fie că te mândreÈ™ti cu musculatura, cu rapiditatea, cu forÈ›a, îndemânarea, îndurarea..., acestea sunt slăbiciuni comune nouă tuturor. Dar atunci când un om rămâne din virtutea lui doar cu îngâmfarea, este trist!”
― Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe

“Lumea nu merită sacrificiul de a trăi pentru ea, cu atât mai puÈ›in de a muri.”
― Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe

“They were lying on a bed of soft moss at the edge of The Crooked Forest. He could hear waves crashing along the shore. She was sprawled out in a robe of silver, her hair spread beneath her like a tide pool.”
― Holly Black, How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories

“Heart’s fragrance is spent with the ending of spring
And nothing left but a tear-stained robe.”
― Li Shangyin

“I love a lounging pajama."
You also love a marabou mule slipper and a satin robe with a train.
"It is elegant."
It is insane.
"It is sophisticated."
Sure, if you're Nora Charles. It isn't 1940.
"Yeah, but look at yourself."
I look in the mirror. The silk and cashmere blend fabric has just the right amount of drape to conceal the lumpier parts of me without clinging, but enough weight to seem more substantial than sleepwear. The color is somewhere halfway between cream and ballerina pink, a color I would never pick, but is a lovely counterpoint to my pale skin and dark hair. All in all, I look fairly adorable for this hour, certainly good enough to warrant a little morning attention.
"Told you so."
Yeah, yeah.
"Didn't I give you a matching robe for that?"
Don't push it.
"I'm just saying."
Fine. I grab the matching robe. It has a wide band of gathered elastic in the back that hits right above my tush, giving me shape, even though the robe isn't tied. Made of the same fabric as the pajamas, it doesn't add bulk the way most robes do, but instead almost serves as the same elegant look a long trench provides.
"HA!"
You are such a bad gloater.
"Too bad. You look utterly shaggable.'
Well I hope so, since I'm pretty sure Brian doesn't think he is coming over for an actual meeting.”
― Stacey Ballis, Out to Lunch

“The bowl the monks carry has figured very much in the history of Zen. Together with the "robe" it symbolises priestly authority.”
― Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki, The Training Of The Zen Buddhist Monk

“Outside the closed doors to the throne room, Sharif the high elder waited, holding a kaftan robe of red silk and velvet in one hand and a long spear nearly twice his height in the other. Jasmine's heart beat faster as she recognized the gold trim and signature jewels lining the robe, the ancient craftsmanship of the spear. These had belonged to Cyrus the Great, the first ruler of the empire. And in mere moments, she would be the first woman to feel them against her skin.
Nadia untied Jasmine's peacock cape while the high elder held out the red robe.
"Today you shed the persona of Jasmine, the princess," he said, "and step into the skin of a sultana."
Jasmine took a deep breath, slipping her arms into the preserved silk. The material was more fragile than anything she'd worn before, and she was conscious that one wrong step, one tear of the fabric, would be rip through history. Yet she felt stronger in the cape too, as though Cyrus were transferring his power through it to her. When Sharif handed her Cyrus's spear, she could barely contain her awe.”
― Alexandra Monir, Realm of Wonders