"Sticky" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... ready to hold out for twenty years, if necessary. Maxime and his family sat in a tea-shop at a little table, gay chatter and the perfume of women all about him. Through it he saw the trench where he had been bombarded for twenty-six days on end, unable to stir from the sticky ditch full of corpses which rose around him like a wall.... His mother laid her hand on his, he woke, saw the affectionate questioning glances of his people, and self-reproached for making them uneasy, he smiled and began to look about and talk gaily. His boyish high spirits came ...
— Clerambault - The Story Of An Independent Spirit During The War • Rolland, Romain
... to break up the clay. Clay bakes hard, becomes sticky, and little air or light gets into it. Ash or sand breaks it up. I think that's about all I ...
— The Library of Work and Play: Gardening and Farming. • Ellen Eddy Shaw
... men would have liked to go on with the shell-firing; but the subsequent cleaning of the guns was not at all to their taste. The smokeless powder left in the bore of the gun a horrid, sticky slime that must not be allowed to remain there. This meant sousing with clean water again and again, washing out with soft soap, and then going on pumping and working with the mop until the water came out again as clean ...
— 'Jena' or 'Sedan'? • Franz Beyerlein
... terribly still, and I could hear him choking, a long way off, as I came back across the lines. The next day I happened to stumble across him. It was bright sunshine, and he was like marble, and the ground all about was sticky. He was staring up in the sun with his head thrown back and his eyes open, and the strangest look! Well, anyway, it made me think of a chap I saw once make a rippingly clever catch at ball, with the sun shining straight in his eyes, while the crowds went wild, and he didn't know what had ...
— Four Days - The Story of a War Marriage • Hetty Hemenway
... your lonely camp-fire, a sunset splendouring to golden death, the night where the silence clutches and the heavens vomit forth white fire. Yes, you will hear it, and hear it, till a madness comes over you, till you leave the crawling men of the sticky pavements to seek it out once more, the sapphire of its lustrous lakes, the white yearning of its peaks to the myriad stars. Then, as a child comes home, will you come home. And I knew that some day to the land wherein he had reigned ...
— The Trail of '98 - A Northland Romance • Robert W. Service
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