Quotes About Contrast

I would describe the distinction between city and landscape like this: cities tend to excite and agitate me; they make me feel big or small, self-confident, proud, curious, excited, tense, annoyed... or they intimidate me. But the landscape, if I give it the chance, offers me freedom and serenity. Nature has a different sense of time. Time is big in the landscape while in the city it is condensed, just like the city's space.

E?ti al dracului de trist, m? Gogule. - Sunt, dar nu se vede din cauz? c? sunt mereu vesel, zise Gogu râzând.

Fakat bu ????a çok bakam?yordum, bu güne? bile gözlerimden içeriye girince, kendinden daha büyük bir karanl?k denizine dü?mü? gibi derhal sönüyor ve içimin rengini al?yordu.

A secret lab is considered by many to be the physical manifestation of a spark's mind. Thus they tend to be rather individualistic. Some are spotlessly clean; some are filled with dangerous trash. Some are ruthlessly efficient; some are filled with suicidal deathtraps. Needless to say, sparks are usually vocally dismissive of the labs of others, while surreptitiously making notes about things they'd wished they'd thought of themselves.

You weren't old enough to appreciate it, but seeing my two dads talking to each other is one of the funniest things ever. You'd think they'd hate each other but it's more like they're in some kind of contest to see who can climb the farthest up the other one's ass.

contrast between

Our life, like the harmony of the world, is composed of contrast, also of varying tones, sweet and harsh, sharp and flat, soft and loud. If a musician liked one sort only, what effect would he make? He must be able to employ them together and blend them. And we too must accept the good and bad that coexist in our life. Our existence is impossible without this mixture, and one side is no less necessary to us than the other. – Michel de Montaigne, sixteenth-century French writer

may have marched to war to ragtime tunes, but few troops could have suspected that among their ranks were men with ballgowns packed in their kitbags

The smoky, feverish, frenetic atmosphere was as unlike the genteel debutante balls of Mayfair as the mechanised war of the Western Front was removed from the cavalry charges of nineteenth-century stage-set battles.

Our similarities are different.

America, thou half-brother of the world; With something good and bad of every land.

The ideal was the light; the real, the shadow.

I guess that's the story of life: what you most fear never happens, but what you most yearn for never happens either. This is the difference between life and fiction. I suppose it's a good trade-off. But I'm not sure.

I caught a glimpse of her onstage as I made my way up to one of the dressing rooms – one of those thin, pale-faced, red-haired Berlin girls who reminded me of a safety match.

they were about as distinguished as packets of Persil.

Have I been wrong, to think the breath That sharpens life is life itself, not death?

The sight of the money depressed her, because in such small familiar things the foreign country around her was best expressed.

It was bigger than he remembered, and much uglier. Strange, how when he lived there he had believed everything the Goggle-screens told him about the city's elegant lines, its perfect beauty. Now he saw that it was ugly; no better than any other town, just bigger; a stormfront of smoke and belching chimneys, a wave of darkness rolling towards the mountains with the white villas of High London surfing on its crest like some delicate ship. It didn't look like home.

They were beautiful all right, but it was a huge, inhuman beauty...

Her hair, just long enough now to tie back in a knot, had a coppery sheen, a hint of fire in the darkness.

Old and ruined, all rotted and broken upThese plum trees function gorgeouslyA few days every yearIn a way nobody else does.

I shall be dark and French and fashionable and difficult. And you shall be sweet and open and English and fair. What a pair we shall be! What man can resist us?

When I see a dead bird," Hans Dorfer said to me, "and I pick it up in my hand, tears come into my eyes. I can't make them not come. Nothing can justify the death of a bird. But if my father croaked all of a sudden, right here, right next to me, I swear I'd dance around the table and buy you a drink. I swear.

I learn more about God From weeds than from roses; Resilience springing Through the smallest chink of hope In the absolute of concrete....