Color Quotes - Page 26

• There was no one color that could paint Lena Duchannes. She was a red sweater and a blue sky, a gray wind and a silver sparrow, a black curl escaping from behind her ear.

  Kami Garcia

  Blue, Escaping, Wind

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• My favorite color is you.

  Suzanne Brockmann

  My Favorite, Favorite Color

  Suzanne Brockmann (2012). “Born to Darkness (with bonus short story Shane's Last Stand)”, p.239, Ballantine Books

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• However gross a man may be, the minute he expresses a strong and genuine affection, some inner secretion alters his features, animates his gestures, and colors his voice. The stupidest man will often, under the stress of passion, achieve heights of eloquence, in thought if not in language, and seem to move in some luminous sphere. Goriot's voice and gesture had at this moment the power of communication that characterizes the great actor. Are not our finer feelings the poems of the human will?

  Honore de Balzac

  Strong, Stress, Moving

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• I had the great idea of using markers to gently color the ants so I could tell them apart, but I learned that this is exactly like somebody trying to gently color on you with a thirty-story building. Without dwelling on the tragedy, I'd just like to say that I'm deeply sorry to Mr. Purple and the surviving Purple family.

  Jim Benton

  Sorry, Ideas, Purple

  Jim Benton (2013). “Dear Dumb Diary #11: Okay, So Maybe I Do Have Superpowers”, p.56, Scholastic

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• Sometimes I read the same books over and over and over. What's great about books is that the stuff inside doesn't change. People say you can't judge a book by its cover but that's not true because it says right on the cover what's inside. And no matter how many times you read that book the words and pictures don't change. You can open and close books a million times and they stay the same. They look the same. They say the same words. The charts and pictures are the same colors. Books are not like people. Books are safe.

  Kathryn Erskine

  Book, People, Judging

  Kathryn Erskine (2010). “Mockingbird”, p.21, Penguin

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• In a subway car, my skin would typically fall in the middle of the color spectrum. On street corners, tourists would ask me for directions. I was, in four and a half years, never an American; I was immediately a New Yorker.

  Mohsin Hamid

  Fall, Years, Car

  Mohsin Hamid (2008). “The Reluctant Fundamentalist”, p.27, Penguin UK

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• He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.

  Rachel Vincent

  Hands, Pulse, Irises

  Rachel Vincent (2009). “My Soul to Take”, p.20, Harlequin

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• War and tooth enameled salted lemon childhoods All colors run, none of us solid Don't look for shadow behind me I carry it within I live cycles of light and darkness

  Suheir Hammad

  Running, War, Light

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• Wenna followed us out. "You've done him some good, Clary, I have to say! He's got color in his cheeks, and he's stepping along as if he was sixty again," she told Goodwin as she walked us to the gate. "You'll come back?" "Of course," Goodwin said. "But thank Cooper for his improved spirits. Once he'd insulted her a few times, he was in the pink.

  Tamora Pierce

  Done, Spirit, Said

  Tamora Pierce (2009). “Bloodhound: The Legend of Beka Cooper #2”, p.218, Random House Books for Young Readers

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• Black is the absence of all color. White is the presence of all colors. I suppose life must be one or the other. On the whole, though, I think I would prefer color to its absence. But then black does add depth and texture to color. Perhaps certain shades of gray are necessary to a complete palette. Even unrelieved black. Ah, a deep philosophical question. Is black necessary to life, even a happy life? Could we ever be happy if we did not at least occasionally experience misery?

  Mary Balogh

  Philosophical, Happy Life, Thinking

  Mary Balogh (2009). “Then Comes Seduction”, p.230, Dell

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• The funeral is a quiet one, despite the number of mourners present. There are no sobs or flailing handkerchiefs. There is a smattering of color amongst the sea of traditional black. Even the light rain cannot push it down into the realms of despair. It rests instead in a space of thoughtful melancholy.

  Erin Morgenstern

  Rain, Thoughtful, Light

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• We had no desire to live in Istanbul, nor in Paris or New York. Let them have their discos and dollars, their skycrapers and supersonics transports. Let them have their radios and their color TV, hey, we have ours, don't we? But we have something they don't have. Heart. We have heart. Look, look how the light of life seeps into my very heart

  Orhan Pamuk

  New York, Heart, Paris

  Orhan Pamuk (2014). “The New Life: A Novel”, p.104, Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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• It adds up, but I deem it all necessary, even the camera gear. I enjoy photographing the otherworldly colors and shapes presented in the convoluted depths of slot canyons and the prehistoric artwork preserved in their alcoves.

  Aron Ralston

  Cameras, Depth, Add

  Aron Ralston (2004). “Between a Rock and a Hard Place: The Basis of the Motion Picture 127 Hours”, p.3, Simon and Schuster

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• The angel said, "I like black-and-white films more than color because they're more artificial. You have to work harder to overcome your disbelief. It's sort of like prayer.

  Jonathan Carroll

  Prayer, Angel, Black And White

  Jonathan Carroll (2008). “The Ghost in Love: A Novel”, p.40, Macmillan

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• I have heard what poets write about women. They rhyme and rhapsodize and lie. I have watched sailors on the shore stare mutely at the slow-rolling swell of the sea. I have watched old soldiers with hearts like leather grow teary-eyed at their king's colors stretched against the wind. Listen to me: these men know nothing of love. You will not find it in the words of poets or the longing eyes of sailors. If you want to know of love, look to a trouper's hands as he makes his music. A trouper knows.

  Patrick Rothfuss

  Kings, Lying, Love You

  Patrick Rothfuss (2011). “The Wise Man's Fear: The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day Two”, p.56, Penguin

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• ...the first thing you do at the end is reflect on the beginning. Maybe it's some form of reverse closure, or just the basic human impulse toward sentimentality, or masochism, but as you stand there shell-shocked in the charred ruins of your life, your mind will invariably go back to the time when it all started. And even if you didn't fall in love in the eighties, in your mind it will fee like the eighties, all innocent and airbrushed, with bright colors and shoulder pads and Pat Benatar or The Cure on the soundtrack.

  Jonathan Tropper

  Falling In Love, Mind, Ruins

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• I think you'd be pretty in any color."-Posy to Octavia

  Suzanne Collins

  Thinking, Posies

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• There is no color line in art.

  Langston Hughes

  Lines

  "Simple's Uncle Sam: With a New Introduction by Akiba Sullivan Harper".

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• How could you not know?" His voice was full of wonderment. "You changed me utterly. You were like a...like a bright, wonderful bloom in a garden full of weeds. Like a graceful capital on a page of plain script, a letter decorated with the deepest, finest colors in all Erin. Like a flame, Caitrin. Like a song.

  Juliet Marillier

  Weed, Song, Garden

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• The best musicians transpose consciousness into sound; painters do the same for color and shape.

  Haruki Murakami

  Musician, Sound, Shapes

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• These people yapped loudly of race, of race consciousness, of race pride, and yet suppressed its most delightful manifestations, love of color, joy of rhythmic motion, naive, spontaneous laughter. Harmony, radiance, and simplicity, all the essentials of spiritual beauty in the race they had marked for destructions.

  Nella Larsen

  Spiritual, Laughter, Pride

  Nella Larsen (2013). “Quicksand & Passing”, p.20, Simon and Schuster

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• Three weeks ago, he’d seen hail fall from the sky, only to be followed minutes later by a spectacular rainbow that seemed to frame the azalea bushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it’s important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Fall, Thinking, Azaleas

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• It’s the leftover humans. The survivors. They’re the ones I can’t stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprises. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs. Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It’s the story of one of those perpetual survivors –an expert at being left behind.

  Markus Zusak

  Heart, Jigsaw Puzzles, Mind

  "The Book Thief". Book by Markus Zusak, 2007.

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• The Matisse seemed to respond to the decreasing light by increasing its own wattage. Every object in the room was drained of color, but the Matisse stood firm in the de-escalating illumination, its beauty turning functionality inside out, making itself a more practical and useful presence than anything else in sight.

  Steve Martin

  Light, Sight, Illumination

  Steve Martin (2010). “An Object of Beauty”, p.75, Hachette UK

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• ...trees to cool the towns in the boiling summer, trees to hold back the winter winds. There were so many things a tree could do: add color, provide shade, drop fruit, or become a children's playground, a whole sky universe to climb and hang from; an architecture of food and pleasure, that was a tree. But most of all the trees would distill an icy air for the lungs, and a gentle rustling for the ear when you lay nights in your snowy bed and were gentled to sleep by the sound.

  Ray Bradbury

  Summer, Children, Sleep

  Ray Bradbury (2012). “The Martian Chronicles”, p.97, Simon and Schuster

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