"Slag" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... fortunes out of trifles which others pass by. As the bee gets honey from the same flower from which the spider gets poison, so some men will get a fortune out of the commonest and meanest things, as scraps of leather, cotton waste, slag, iron filings, from which others get only poverty and failure. There is scarcely a thing which contributes to the welfare and comfort of humanity, not an article of household furniture, a kitchen utensil, an article of clothing or of food, that is ...
— Architects of Fate - or, Steps to Success and Power • Orison Swett Marden
... planets, and satellites to planets, are only so many immense cinders—mere refuse slag—of no conceivable interest to science, except to predicate the ultimate conclusion—"a played-out universe, resulting from a played-out potency within the universe." The magnificent clockwork of the heavens will then have run down, with no Darwinian whirligig to ...
— Life: Its True Genesis • R. W. Wright
... was brought up the Severn by barges, to the quay which stood at the road running straight down from Longsmith Street (in which Charles Hoar's house stands), and buried under all this street we find the cinder and slag of the Roman forges. In Domesday book (which was ordered to be drawn up at a Parliament in Gloucester in 1083) it states that the City had paid to the King (i. e., Edward the Confessor) ten dicres of iron yearly. This ...
— Autobiography of Seventy Years, Vol. 1-2 • George Hoar
... beyond the river it climbs to another plain so desperate in its calcined aridity that the prickly scrub of the wilderness we had left seemed like the vegetation of an oasis. For fifty kilometres the earth under our wheels was made up of a kind of glistening red slag covered with pebbles and stones. Not the scantest and toughest of rock-growths thrust a leaf through its brassy surface, not a well-head or a darker depression of the rock gave sign of a trickle of water. Everything around us glittered with the ...
— In Morocco • Edith Wharton
... to the colliery. It stood quite still and black among the corn-fields, its immense heap of slag seen rising almost ...
— Sons and Lovers • David Herbert Lawrence
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