[A]ll great soundbites happen by accident, which is to say, all great soundbites are yielded up inevitably, as part of the natural expression of the text. They are part of the tapestry, they aren’t a little flower somebody sewed on.

Noonan argues that the most memorable lines in speeches and writing—what later get labeled “soundbites”—cannot be reliably manufactured as detachable slogans. They arise organically from a coherent argument, voice, and emotional logic; when the underlying text is alive and truthful, certain phrases will “yield up” their memorability. Her metaphor contrasts an integrated “tapestry” with a decorative “flower somebody sewed on,” criticizing the practice of grafting catchy lines onto otherwise thin prose. The implication is practical as well as aesthetic: writers should focus on clarity, structure, and authentic expression, trusting that resonance is an emergent property of good work rather than a bolt-on trick.