Gray Quotes - Page 21

• The sun began to set behind Bethlehem and the beams were breaking through some white and gray clouds. There was a slight and beautiful chill from the autumn air. I gave thanks for that beautiful day and for the fact that the sun does not know Palestinian from Israeli, Christian from Muslim or Jew, and Asian from American or African, and I asked myself: If the sun shines on all of us as one, how much more does the sun's Creator see and love us all as one?

  Ted Dekker

  Beautiful, Christian, Autumn

  Ted Dekker, Carl Medearis (2010). “Tea with Hezbollah: Sitting at the Enemies Table Our Journey Through the Middle East”, p.198, Image

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• As dull as Nate Gray is," Will said, "his head is not actually filled with gears, Henry. He's a human.

  Cassandra Clare

  Gears, Dull, Said

  Cassandra Clare (2013). “Clockwork Prince”, p.357, Simon and Schuster

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• Loki," I said. "Hey, Princess." He smiled dazedly as he looked up at me. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." I smiled and shook my head. "Not anymore." "What's this?" He took my hair and held it out so i could see. A curl near the front had gone completely silver. "I take a nap, and you go gray?" "You didn't take a nap." I laughed. "Don't you remember what happened?" He furrowed his brow, trying to remember, and understanding flashed in his eyes. "I remember..." Loki touched my face. "I remember that I love you." I bent down, kissing him full on the mouth, and he held me to him.

  Amanda Hocking

  Princess, Love You, Eye

  Amanda Hocking (2012). “Ascend: A Trylle Novel”, p.205, St. Martin's Griffin

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• She was beautiful in combat. I know that’s a crazy thing to say, especially after we’d just climbed a sewage waterfall, but her gray eyes sparkled when she was fighting for her life. Her face shone like a goddess’s, and believe me, I’ve seen goddesses. The way her Camp Half-Blood beads rested against her throat—Okay, sorry. Got a little distracted.

  Rick Riordan

  Beautiful, Sorry, Crazy

  Rick Riordan (2012). “The Demigod Diaries (Heroes of Olympus)”, p.75, Penguin UK

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• Color fills her cheeks, and I think it again: that Johanna Reyes might still be beautiful. Except now I think that she isn't just beautiful in spite of the scar, she's somehow beautiful with it, like Lynn with her buzzed hair, like Tobias with the memories of his father's cruelty that he wears like armor, like my mother in her plain gray clothing.

  Veronica Roth

  Beautiful, Mother, Memories

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• Oddly enough I never used to suffer from depression on cold, gray, cloudy days like this. I feel as if nature is in harmony with me, that it reflected my soul. On the other hand, when the sun appeared, the children would come out to play in the streets, and everyone was happy that it was such a lovely day, and then I would feel terrible, as if that display of exuberance in which i could not participate was somehow unfair.

  Paulo Coelho

  Children, Hands, Play

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• It is a popular fact that nine-tenths of the brain is not used and, like most popular facts, it is wrong. Not even the most stupid Creator would go to the trouble of making the human head carry around several pounds of unnecessary gray goo if its only real purpose was, for example, to serve as a delicacy for certain remote tribesmen in unexplored valleys.

  Terry Pratchett

  Stupid, Real, Brain

  Terry Pratchett (2008). “Small Gods: (Discworld Novel 13)”, p.91, Random House

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• ... everything seemed to him a uniform shade of gray- even the people! He had been unable to believe it could rain so much in one place, and so unceasingly. The damp had seemed to come up from the floors and into his bones, so that he'd thought he would eventually sprout mold, in the manner of a tree. "You do get used to it," he said "Even if sometimes you feel as if you out to be able to be wrung out like a washrag." p 311

  Cassandra Clare

  Rain, Believe, People

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• I stare at her chest. As she breathes, the rounded peaks move up and down like the swell of waves, somehow reminding me of rain falling softly on a broad stretch of sea. I'm the lonely voyager standing on deck, and she's the sea. The sky is a blanket of gray, merging with the gray sea off on the horizon. It's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky. Between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart.

  Haruki Murakami

  Lonely, Rain, Moving

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• I didn’t realize I was frozen in place until a classmate shouldered into me, knocking my heavy backpack from my shoulder. “’Scuse me,” he grumbled, his tone more Get out of the way than Sorry I ran into you. As I bent to retrieve my backpack, praying Kennedy and his fangirl hadn’t seen me, a hand grasped the strap and swung the pack up from the floor. I straightened and looked into clear gray-blue eyes. “Chivalry isn’t really dead, you know.

  Tammara Webber

  Sorry, Eye, Blue

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• Madrigal sniffed herself. "I'm almost sure I don't smell." "Maybe not, but between shining cleanliness and not smelling, there is a vast gray area.

  Laini Taylor

  Smell, Shining, Cleanliness

  Laini Taylor (2011). “Daughter of Smoke and Bone: Daughter of Smoke and Bone Trilogy”, p.203, Hachette UK

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• Every day is like a kid's drawing, offered to you with a strange mix of ceremoniousness and offhand disregard, yours for the keeping. Some of the days are rich and complicated, others inscrutable, others little more than a stray gray mark on a ragged page. Some you manage to hang on to, though your reasons for doing so are often hard to fathom. But most of them you just ball up and throw away.

  Michael Chabon

  Kids, Drawing, Balls

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• There were those who loved liberty, who cried out to live their own lives, to strive, to rise above, to achieve, and those bent on the mindless equality of stagnation brought about through the enforcement of an artificial, arbitrary, gray uniformity--those who wanted to transcend through their own effort, and those who wanted others to think for them and were willing to pay the ultimate price.

  Terry Goodkind

  Thinking, Effort, Liberty

  Terry Goodkind (2015). “Faith Of The Fallen”, p.514, Head of Zeus

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• When they shall paint our sockets gray And light us like a stinking fuse, Remember that we once could say, Yesterday we had a world to lose.

  Stanley Kunitz

  Light, Yesterday, World

  Stanley Kunitz (1974). “The terrible threshold: selected poems, 1940-1970”, Harvill Secker

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• I would wear pink because I knew my future was anything but rosy. I would accessorize myself to the hilt, and I would wear flirty shoes because my world needed more beauty to counter all the ugliness in it. I would wear pink because I hated gray, I didn’t deserve white, and I was sick of black.

  Karen Marie Moning

  Flirty, Shoes, White

  Karen Marie Moning (2016). “The Fever Series 7-Book Bundle: Darkfever, Bloodfever, Faefever, Dreamfever, Shadowfever, Iced, Burned”, p.412, Dell

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• She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.

  Truman Capote

  Eye, Dark, Glasses

  Truman Capote (2012). “Breakfast at Tiffany's”, p.71, Vintage

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• It is the brain, the little gray cells on which one must rely. One must seek the truth within--not without." ~ Poirot

  Agatha Christie

  Cells, Brain, Littles

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• McIntyre hesitated, and for a moment the tall, gray-haired man looked almost boyish. "After all this time...don't you think you could call me William?" Amy and Dan exchanged glances. As fond as they were of him, they couldn't imagine calling their lawyer by his first name. He saw the hesitation on their faces. "Will?" Amy cleared her throat. Dan fiddled with the new GPS. "How about 'Mac'?" "Mac," Dan said, trying out the name. Mr. McIntyre looked wistful. "I always wanted to be a Mac.

  Judy Blundell

  Men, Thinking, Gps

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• His beauty did not blaze like Will's did in fierce colors and repressed fire, but it had its own muted perfection, the loveliness of snow falling against a silver gray sky.

  Cassandra Clare

  Fall, Fire, Color

  Cassandra Clare (2011). “Clockwork Prince”, p.135, Simon and Schuster

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• They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it.

  Suzanne Collins

  Girl, Struggle, Eye

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• So I buy it. The most perfect little cardigan in the world. People will call me the Girl in the Gray Cardigan. I’ll be able to live in it. Really, it’s an investment.

  Sophie Kinsella

  Girl, People, Perfect

  Sophie Kinsella (2009). “The Secret Dreamworld Of A Shopaholic: (Shopaholic Book 1)”, p.67, Random House

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• Dawn's faint breath breathes with your mouth at the ends of empty streets. Gray light your eyes, sweet drops of dawn on dark hills. Your steps and breath like the wind of dawn smother houses. The city shudders, Stones exhale— you are life, an awakening. Star lost in the light of dawn, trill of the breeze, warmth, breath— the night is done. You are light and morning.

  Cesare Pavese

  Sweet, Morning, Stars

  Cesare Pavese, “In The Morning You Always Come Back”

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• Abe swept in, resplendent in a gray and yellow suit that coordinated bafflingly well with Adrian's paint job.

  Richelle Mead

  Jobs, Yellow, Suits

  Richelle Mead (2011). “Bloodlines”, p.263, Penguin

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• There were days, rainy gray days, when the streets of Brooklyn were worthy of a photograph, every window the lens of a Leica, the view grainy and immobile. We gathered our colored pencils and sheets of paper and drew like wild, feral children into the night, until, exhausted, we fell into bed. We lay in each other's arms, still awkward but happy, exchanging breathless kisses into sleep.

  Patti Smith

  Children, Sleep, Kissing

  "Just Kids". Book by Patti Smith, January 19, 2010.

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• a happy birthday this evening, I sat by an open window and read till the light was gone and the book was no more than a part of the darkness. I could easily have switched on a lamp, but I wanted to ride the day down into night, to sit alone, and smooth the unreadable page with the pale gray ghost of my hand

  Ted Kooser

  Book, Night, Light

  Ted Kooser, “A Happy Birthday”

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