Quotes About Contrast

On the way out of the theater, I brushed away the tears, worried that my friend would notice. Suddenly he turned to me. "What a waste of a life!" he snapped. "All that suffering for nothing!" His comments shocked me. It was the first time I realized that my feelings toward religion might be the opposite of what others experienced.

It was always so hot, and everyone was so polite, and everything was all surface but underneath it was like a bomb waiting to go off. I always felt that way about the South, that beneath the smiles and southern hospitality and politeness were a lot of guns and liquor and secrets.

What is laughter… but somehow the cabaletta to grief?

contrast, as a result of that study, blessed and empowered by the Holy Spirit, we will begin to take on something of the glorious luster of the Lord Jesus Christ and will become increasingly like him. That

A scent of jasmine and a rasp of sand.

We need a term that will stand in contrast to "power" as it acquires its meaning in finite play. Let us say that where the finite player plays to be powerful the infinite player plays with strength.

In one respect, but only one, an infinite game is identical to a finite game: Of infinite players we can also say that if they play they play freely; if they must play, they cannot play. Otherwise, infinite and finite play stand in the sharpest possible contrast.

I looked like a million bucks. An unarmed million bucks, which isn't necessarily the best combination.

I've rattled around long enough to have learned one thing: the universe is cold, and cruel, and violent - but only if you choose to look at it that way. For every act of aggression there are a thousand acts of kindness. For every hateful word, a million declarations of love.

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise.

You're an unpopular man. Memorable-but remarkably unpopular. You have no friends, for instance, in Brooklyn. Around Henry Street, say, where old women sit on the stoops in their aprons and men play dominoes on cardtables by the curb.

There are two kinds of light — the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.

There are two kinds of light -- the glow that illumines, and the glare that obscures.

There are two kinds of light - the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.

Everything was raw and painful and confusing and wrong and yet it was as if I'd been dragged from freezing water through a break in the ice, into sun and blazing cold.

He had never seen a gunshot wound. He kept asking what if felt like? dull or sharp? an ache or a burn? My head was spinning and naturally I could give him no kind of coherent answer but I remember thinking dimly that it was sort of like the first time I got drunk, or slept with a girl; not quite what one expected, really, but once it happened it couldn't be any other way. Neon lights: Motel 6, Dairy Queen. Colors so bright, they nearly broke my heart.

basketball courts ringed with barbed-wire fence.

A November stillness was settling like a deadly oxymoron on the April landscape.

but somehow, despite my efforts, I am never able to blend myself in entirely and remain in some respects quite distinct from my surroundings, in the same way that a green chameleon remains a distinct entity from the green leaf upon which it sits, no matter how perfectly it has approximated the subtleties of the particular shade.

The swish of the oars and the hypnotic thrum of dragonflies blended with his academic monotone.

sky darkened rapidly, darker every second; the wind rustled the trees in the park and the new leaves on the trees stood out tender and yellow against black clouds.

It was getting warmer. The dirty snow was pockmarked from the warm rain, and melting in patches to expose the slimy, yellowed grass beneath it; icicles cracked and plunged like daggers from the sharp peaks of the roofs.

the only light came from a lamp which threw a sharp white circle on melted candles, computer cables, empty beer bottles and butane cans, oil pastels boxed and loose, many catalogues raisonnés, books in German and English including Nabokov's Despair

Ma dopotutto non è sempre l'elemento fuori posto, quello che non funziona alla perfezione, che stranamente finiamo per amare di più?