Quotes About Contrast

most hated by the dark, for their name is light.

There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn't-eat.

The opera…is to music what a bawdy house is to a cathedral.

In his left hand he was holding aloft the German flag; with his right he was shaking hands in smiling effusion with a bald-headed man whose face looked like a pot of lard that has boiled over and eventually congealed in white, flabby, unhealthy drifts and folds.

New York: A third-rate Babylon.

Once in a while, though, he could not help seeing how shallow, fickle, and meaningless all human aspirations are, and how emptily our real impulses contrast with those pompous ideals we profess to hold.

This man bore no resemblance to the bearded, grizzled Akeley of the snapshot; but was a younger and more urban person, fashionably dressed, and wearing only a small, dark moustache.

At the present time he was a man of perhaps forty-five years of age, short and heavy-set, with a bullet-shaped head that rested on broad, ape-like shoulders. His thick torso and bulging paunch were supported by a pair of spindly legs that contrasted oddly with the upper portions of his beefy body.

Is it not amazing that around a man as cold as I am, there should always be fire? Sometimes it tries to burn me, but I usually collect my things and leave.

En þeir sem voru snemma á fótum morguninn eftir urðu þeirrar huggunar aðnjótandi að sjá Pétur Pálsson ríða heim af fjalli, að vísu aðþreingdan nokkuð, ákaflega moldugan, hattlausan, tannlausan, og loníettulausan, en þó óneitanlega í tiltölulega ómyrtu ásigkomulagi.

And so I sat in the centre of this old city that I loved, which itself sat at the bottom of a tiny island. I was surrounded by people I loved, and I felt happy and miserable at the same time. I thought of what a mess everything had been, but that it wouldn't always be this way.

This was a place where tattoos outnumbered teeth.

Myron lay sprawled next to a knee-knockingly gorgeous brunette clad only in a Class-B-felony bikini, a tropical drink sans umbrella in one hand, the aqua clear Caribbean water lapping at his feet, the sand a dazzling white powder, the sky a pure blue that could only be God's blank canvas, the sun a soothing and rich as a Swedish masseur with a snifter of cognac, and he was intensely miserable.

The world is nothing but a bunch of thin lines separating what we think are extremes.

Another weird thing about funerals: Wear black but kill something as colorful as flowers to decorate.

I look at her, then at Tasha, and I feel the wondrous blend of bliss and fear. They--bliss and fear--are constant companions. Rarely does one venture out without the other.

What made me pause here was the pure dichotomy.

Some men called them Lenny and George, referring to the Steinbeck characters in Of Mice and Men. There might be some truth to it—Cal was big and impossibly strong—but where Lenny had a gentleness, Cal had none. He was a rock, both physically and emotionally. He could indeed kill a rabbit by petting it, but he wouldn't care much. But

Simon's had been littered with empty pizza boxes and emptier beer cans, decorated in Early American Pub Crawl, while Eileen Vaughan's suite looked like something out of an Ikea catalogue, all pale woods and real furniture and freshly-vacuumed throw carpets.

Above, the cars roar past, oblivious to what is below them.

an ugly hatchet man who considered Kmart velour sweatpants haute couture.

Myron parked next to a black BMW. There were maybe a dozen other cars, all glistening from fresh washes and waxes or perhaps they were all new. Mostly Mercedes Benzes. A few BMWs. A Bentley. A Jag. A Rolls. Myron's Taurus stood out like a zit in a Revlon commercial. The

Tom and Esperanza exchanged vows in a quaint church. White poppies lined the pews. Tom's side of the aisle was dressed in black and white—a sea of penguins. Esperanza's side had so many colors, Crayola sent a scout. It looked like the Halloween parade in Greenwich Village. The organ played beautiful hymns. The choir sang like angels. The setting could not have been more serene. For

When they were alone, Linda Coldren began to pace the room. Myron was again awed by her looks—the paradoxical combination of beauty, strength, and now delicacy. The strong, toned arms, yet the long, slender neck. The harsh, pointed features, yet the soft indigo eyes. Myron had heard beauty described as "seamless"; hers was quite the opposite.