Quotes About Contrast

You seemed to me to be soaring far up in the blue - to be sailing in the bright light, over the heads of men. Suddenly some one tosses up a faded rosebud - a missile that should never have reached you - and down you drop to the ground.

His serenity was but the array of wild flowers niched in his ruin.

She is like a revolving lighthouse; pitch darkness alternating with a dazzling brilliancy!

Her face was not young, but it was simple; it was not fresh, but it was mild. She had large eyes which were not bright, and a great deal of hair which was not 'dressed,' and long fine hands which were--possibly--not clean.

I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong.

It had come back to him simply that what he had been looking at all summer was a very rich and beautiful world, and that it had not all been made by sharp railroad men and stock-brokers.

To her mind there was nothing of the infinite about Mrs. Penniman; Catherine saw her all at once, as it were, and was not dazzled by the apparition; whereas her father's great faculties seemed, as they stretched away, to lose themselves in a sort of luminous vagueness, which indicated, not that they stopped, but that Catherine's own mind ceased to follow them.

His egotism lay like a serpent in a bank of flowers.

There are no themes so human as those that reflect the closeness of bliss to bale.

You like excitement and emotion and change, you like remarkable sensations, whereas I go in for a holy calm, for sweet repose.

He fairly glittered in the gloom.

Order is the dream of man, but chaos is the law of nature.

She always looks the same: like an angel who came down from heaven yesterday and has been rather disappointed in her first day on earth!

If you knew some of the people he does have!" Maisie knew them all, and none indeed were to be compared to Sir Claude.

She has such variety and yet such harmony.

I had a microscopic eye for the blemish, for the grain of ugliness which to me constituted the sole beauty of the object.

You start with the sublime and end up in an alley jerking away for dear life.

The monstrous thing is not that men have created roses out of this dung heap, but that, for some reason or other, they should want roses.

The world is two thirds spaghetti and meatballs, one third syphilitic chancre.

A valise without straps. A hole without a key. She had a German mouth, French ears, Russian ass. Cunt international. When the flag waved it was red all the way back to the throat. You entered on the Boulevard Jules-Ferry and came out at the Porte de la Villette. You dropped your sweetbreads into the tumbrils – red tumbrils with two wheels, naturally. At the confluence of the Ourcq and Marne, where the water sluices through the dikes and lies like glass under the bridges.

Why do lovely faces haunt us so? Do extraordinary flowers have evil roots?

The sun is setting fast. The colors die. They shift from purple to dried blood, from nacre to bister, from cool dead grays to pigeon shit.

The world is divided into three parts of which two parts are meat balls and spaghetti and the other part a huge syphilitic chancre. (revised, correct quote)

La ciudad retoña como un enorme organismo todo él enfermo y las avenidas hermosas son algo menos repulsivas sólo porque les han drenado el pus.