Quotes About Contrast

This man looked like Khaster yet in many ways he was entirely dissimilar. If any thing, this was what Khaster should always have been: tougher, more humorous.

Natural rock formations looked like ancient temples, while ancient temples looked like natural rock.

Love did not suit her. Her face was not made for dreamy expressions, and her long, restless body did not fit comfortably into postures of romantic languor.

Do not love him, for his ice will extinguish your fire.

An urge to laugh fought to express itself in Pharinet's narrow chest. Everna looked so dramatic, all wild eyes, hawk nose, and flailing hair.

A place like this should not exist in such a cruel world. To find it there was to have hope restored.

Will we ever get a taste for that? It is like sugar and spice mixed with bile.

The place was not like Caradore; the feeling was entirely different. Caradore was raw, as if the mountains were still young. Recolletine seemed older, more serene. It could be a place of healing, yes, but Khaster did not feel his spirit stir to the insistent throb of energy in the earth. There were no stark pure winds here, no pure demanding sky.

Here we are in darkness," Tayven said, "And for us, if we did not know better, this light would be all that existed. But we do know better. We know that outside the cave the world is bathed in light.

Everything that he saw and heard about the city filled him with distaste, yet Valraven seemed to embrace it.

He had the face of a judgmental angel, beautiful, and because of that, terrifying.

Gone were the precise and mannered portraits he was famous for at home, which hung on the walls of patron galleries. Now, his paintings were undisciplined and fierce: no demure maidens in limpid bowers, but powerful sorceresses depicted against violent skies, cowering souls dismembered at their feet, soulscape monsters wheeling 'round their heads.

Her friendliness and openness were quite at odds with her rather forbidding appearance.

His flawless skin looked shockingly clean against the oily wool of his jumper.

She was imaginative and naturally wild, but no one who met the demure, tidy child would ever have guessed that.

If a body should fall from that window, its flight would be impeded by the stone arms of caryatids and gargoyles, or else impaled. I could see him thinking of his own death, and he was achingly lovely as he did so: the archetype of all the boys ever loved by kings. His hair, unbound, flowed down him like a veil; the colour of dark honey. His eye, in profile, was slightly slanted, its cat-like shape accentuated by a kiss of kohl.

Where Insch was bald, Steel looked as if someone had sellotaped a Cairn terrier to her head. Rumour had it she was only forty-two, but she looked a lot older. Years of chain smoking had left her face looking like a holiday home for lines and wrinkles.

I didn't know, even vaguely, the difference between physical deprivation and the emotional loss of one's child, even when you know that child is healthy and well.

He made me so angry. Here is this motherfucker, who is comfortable, he's not struggling — in truth, there's not a hell of a lot for him to struggle about, 'cause he's a fuckin' marshmallow in a bag of marshmallows. He's a nice guy. I mean, I like him. But he's a fuckin' marshmallow.

We noticed a lady coming to. us rather frequently. She'd come in a Cadillac, park three blocks away and walk over. She belonged to a class I used to call the well-dressed destitute. She had the clothes, she had the Cadillac, but she didn't have any money.

She had everything in there snow white. And that means work, believe me. In the dining room she had a blue set, she had sky-blue chairs. They had a bedroom with pink and blue. I look and say, "I know what this means." It means sho' 'nough — knees.

American football makes rugby look like a Tupperware party.

that she is beautiful, an impossible kind of beauty, composed of all the wrong elements: white hair, the flawless but deeply lined skin, the freckles of age dotting the hands and face.

Sight is about contrast. You cannot see an object if there is nothing to contrast it against.