A Quote by Barbara G. Walker

When I was 35, all of a sudden I thought maybe it'd be nice to knit a sweater. — © Barbara G. Walker
When I was 35, all of a sudden I thought maybe it'd be nice to knit a sweater.
I knit the afternoon away. I knit reasons for Elijah to come back. I knit apologies for Emma. I knit angry knots and slipped stitches for every mistake I ever made, and I knit wet, swollen stitches that look awful. I knit the sun down.
I married a man who was in fashion. I began to work when my daughter Nathalie was about eight or 10 years old. Then one day I began to make a sweater, and eventually the sweater was on the front page of Elle magazine. And the day after I was the queen of knit in America.
I don't know if you've ever knit a sweater, but by the end of it, you're like, 'Ugh I can't wear this. I can't stand the color. I'm so tired of it.'
My husband had a clothing store in Paris, and I had his factory make specifically for me something similar to the one I was looking for. We made it in different colours, and decided to sell them in the store...and in a day, they were sold out! This sweater became later known as the "poor boy sweater" and it ended up making the cover of Elle magazine, and in a day, I became the "Queen of knit", without knowing anything about knitting!
I still sweat. My guts are still grinding out there. Sometimes I have enough cotton in my mouth to knit a sweater.
Knitting is very conducive to thought. It is nice to knit a while, put down the needles, write a while, then take up the sock again.
After they see me, when their mothers are feeding them all that cashmere sweater and girdle ----- [expletive deleted by the New York Times], maybe they'll have a second thought - that they can be themselves and win.
In my personal life, I really like the look of vests. I wear fitted, business ones, and perfectly preppy sweater vests that I can knit myself.
My mother told me once that she had her talk with God whenever she started a new sweater: 'Please don't take me in the middle of the sweater.' And as soon as she finished knitting a sweater, and it was blocked and put together, she already had the wool to start the next sweater so that nothing bad would happen.
I wrote that letter, and the one to Nixon. And I wrote more letters, and I thought it might be a magazine article. At that time I sent it to Esquire and Playboy, but anyway, I kept writing, and all of sudden I had enough and thought, well maybe it is a book.
I guess this is how love is when it comes undone. No matter how tight you knit the stitches, a sharp tug on a loose thread will transform your warm sweater into a mangled heap of yarn that you can't reuse or repair.
If you were ever dumped after knitting a guy a sweater, consider the possibility that the problem was with the sweater, not you. The recipient probably took one look at the thing, imagined a lifetime of having to pretend to like (and wear) this sweater and others of its like, and saw no choice but to flee into the night
I can knit. I knit all year, day in, day out. It is my passion, and I rarely knit the same thing twice the same way.
I got sent to a health camp when I was about 6 years old, and we all had to wear the same starchy blue uniform. The lady who took care of me after school knit me a burgundy sweater. It was the only thing that gave me any individuality.
For work I get so dolled up that it's nice to wear boyfriend jeans and a sweater.
Going down (descending), I realized, was like taking hold of the loose strand of yard on a sweater you'd just spent hours knitting and pulling it until the entire sweater unraveled into a pile of string. Hiking the PCT was the maddening effort of knitting that sweater and unraveling it over and over again. As if everything gained was inevitably lost.
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