Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil.

I am but a small pencil in the hand of a writing God

I have always been a pencil.

The pen is almost as pretty an implement in a woman's fingers, as a needle.

With my pencil, I wrote myself into being.

The pencil is mightier than the pen.

I belong to this notebook and this pencil.

Her handwriting, tbh, is like the prints of a hen digging for food, i.e. barely legible.

I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.

He carried a pencil that put a camera to shame.

I am a little pencil in God's hands. He does the thinking. He does the writing. He does everything and sometimes it is really hard because it is a broken pencil and He has to sharpen it a little more.

The pencil-stroke is like cutting into the heart.

Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,
Such an intruder on the rights of men,
Such a presumptuous Creature, is esteem’d,
The fault, can by no vertue be redeem’d.

We are all pencils in the hand of God.