Quotes About Contrast

It was astonishing that Mark, who was a millionaire at least, and probably a good deal more, should live in such a dingy apartment – it had for its chief decoration the hoofs of several deceased race-winners, mounted as inkstands, as pen-racks, as paper-weights – and afford himself only such a lugubrious breakfast of fat slabs of ham over which bled pallid eggs.…

And Paris, when you avoid the more conspicuous resorts, and when you are unprovided with congenial companionship can prove nearly as overwhelming as is, say, Birmingham on a Sunday.

A gentleman in those days consulted his heirs about tree planting. Should you plant a group of copper beeches against a group of white maples over against the ha-ha a quarter of a mile from the house so that the contrast seen from the ball-room windows should be agreeable—in thirty years' time? In those days thought, in families, went in periods of thirty years, owner gravely consulting heir who should see that development of light and shade that the owner never would.

I Tietjens, który nie nienawidziÅ' nikogo, majÄ…c przed sobÄ… prostolinijnego czÅ'owieka typu szkolnego kolegi, zaczÄ…Å' rozmyÅ›la? nad tym, jak to ludzko?? traktowana jednostkowo byÅ'a niemal zawsze sympatyczna, w swej masie zaÅ› stawaÅ'a siÄ™ zjawiskiem ohydnym.

It is very extraordinary to see the perfect flush of health on her cheeks, to see the lustre of her coiled black hair, the poise of the head upon the neck, the grace of the white hands - and to think that it all means nothing - that it is a picture without a meaning. Yes, it is queer.

I felt at one and the same time quite close, within reach of my hand, and yet an infinite distance away, an unknown world of goodness. Often Isa had said to me: 'You, who see nothing but evil.... You, who see evil everywhere....' It was true, and it was not true.

She IS too fat, said Lavinia. And Sara is too thin.

It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights, he said. Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs.

Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary—she actually looked almost pretty for a moment.

And they both began to laugh over nothings as children will when they are happy together. And they laughed so that in the end they were making as much noise as if they had been two ordinary healthy natural ten-year-old creatures—instead of a hard, little, unloving girl and a sickly boy who believed that he was going to die.

color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes;

to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go

Donde cuides una rosa, muchacho, No puede crecer un cardo

Finally I caught on that what you buy today is ready—picked or dug this morning at its peak. This also explained another puzzle; I never understood why Italian refrigerators are so minute until I realized that they don't store food the way we do. The Sub-Zero giant I have at home begins to seem almost institutional compared to the toy fridge I now have here.

batch of obsidian-like fudge, Ashley disdained the kitchen.

At first we raced through space, like shadows and light; her rants, my raves; her dark hair, my blonde; black dresses, white. She's a purple-black African-violet-dark butterfly and I a white moth. We were two wild ponies, Dawn and Midnight, the wind electrifying our manes and our hooves quaking the city; we were photo negatives of each other, together making the perfect image of a girl.

That must have been a ballroom once," she said, as she glanced back at the conference–cum–dining room. For an instant she could imagine it: Women dressed like Anna Karenina. Hussars and diplomats. Candlelight softening the lines on their faces. "And this used to be a garden," Michael added. "Like Stalin's world used to be Russia. It's only going to get drabber.

Imagine a world full of Elizabeth Wakefields,' Lila said. 'Could you imagine a duller, more predictable place? I think I'd go crazy.

There was only one blonde in the room, and she didn't even have a tan.

Physically she was like a swan among more humble fowl – tall, willowy, and exceptionally pretty with fair skin and golden hair, whereas the Chardins were plain and dark, stocky and short.

Anne tells him that his silence is, in a way, like her chatter.

But so often, things of great beauty are full of great corruption.

There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.

In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.