Quotes About Contrast

The rose petal floats on water. The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.

A spoonful of hope and a cup of despair

A pattern that is all one color is no pattern.

He was not as she remembered. His features were the same, but his face was hard. Blue ice made his eyes. The bloody rips in his coat and breeches, the blood on his face, seemed to suit that face.

She stood in one smooth motion, surprisingly pale where the sun not touch her, slender and hard-muscled, yet with roundnesses and softnesses that haunted his dreams.

The rose petal floats on water," Lan recited softly. "The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.

Why was it women could go to pieces or fly into a rage at the smallest thing, yet never flicker an eyelash at what left you gaping?

There was a difference between being proud of a grand fireplace in your hall and walking into the flames.

it seemed to him that he felt one pair of eyes in particular, someone staring not at Moiraine and Loial, but at him. He picked her out immediately. For one thing, she stood apart from the others, and for another she was the only woman in the room not wearing at least a little lace. Her dark gray, almost black, dress was as plain as the ship captains' clothes, with wide sleeves and narrow skirts, and never a frill or stitch of fancy-work.

A flower in a field of weeds was always a sight, but if you passed cultivated flower beds every day, none of them drew your notice.

swimming naked in a river of fire churned to rapids by jagged boulders of ice.

the world was not black and white—it wasn't even gray. It was full of colors that sometimes didn't fit into any spectrum of morality.

A woman with her hair all in braids laughed at them, and another woman all in white laughed at her.

Semak berduri hitam pun terkadang berbunga, indah dan putih di antara durinya Verin

There is nothing in a crowded street more noticeable than a man running ? unless it is a woman.

Accountants and economists are natural enemies. One views trees, the other forests, and the visions are usually at odds, as they should be.

the inequality of values is constant. Gold simply is not brass or iron;

Pretty mountains, pretty river, bumpy but pleasant tar road... old buildings, old people on a front porch... strange how old, obsolete buildings and plants and mills, the technology of fifty and a hundred years ago, always seem to look so much better than the new stuff.

I think it was Coleridge who said everyone is either a Platonist or an Aristotelian. People who can't stand Aristotle's endless specificity of detail are natural lovers of Plato's soaring generalities. People who can't stand the eternal lofty idealism of Plato welcome the down-to-earth facts of Aristotle.

Your heart does roughly the same thing whether you are in a murderous rage or having an orgasm. Again, the opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

If it's the right person tickling you in that adolescent stage of being on the cusp of sexuality, maybe, just maybe, that tickling is going to be followed by something really good, like hand-holding. In contrast, if it's Slobodan Milosovic who is tickling you, maybe, just maybe, it will be followed up by his trying to ethnically cleanse you.

The biologies of strong love and strong hate are similar in many ways, as we'll see.

He felt himself, in a way, torn between two worlds: a solid, bourgeois world where ultimately everything was ordered and rational, as he was accustomed to from home, and an untrammelled one full of darkness, blood, and undreamt-of surprises.

jedes einzelne war hässlich, und alles zusammen war Glück.