Quotes About Contrast

You tell yourself that noise is what defines silence. Without noise, silence would not be golden. Noise is the exception.

Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.

The way she looks right now, you have to think about multiple car pile-ups. Imagine two bloodmobiles colliding head on. The way she looks, you'd have to think of mass graves to even log thirty seconds in the saddle. Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.

What makes the earth feel like Hell is our expectation that it ought to feel like Heaven.

Fare schifo è il nuovo essere splendidi

The way she looks right now, you have to think about multiple car pile-ups. Imagine two bloodmobiles coliding head on. The way she looks, you'd have to think of mass graves to even log thirty seconds in the saddle. Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.

With the elevator stopped between floors, my view is about a cockroach above the green linoleum, and from here at cockroach level the green corridor stretches toward the vanishing point, past half-open doors where titans and their gigantic wives drink barrels of champagne and bellow to each other wearing diamonds bigger than I feel.

All her life, she never saw a dead person. There was no real sense of life because she had nothing to contrast it with.

I see the strongest and the smartest men who have ever lived, he says, his face outlined against the stars in the driver's window, and these men are pumping gas and waiting tables. The drop of his forehead, his brow, the slope of his nose, his eyelashes and the curve of his eyes, the plastic profile of his mouth, talking, these are all outlined in black against the stars.

Masticando il suo tabacco, il Mezzano ha sputato sulla moquette macchiata e ha detto che questo edificio umido, queste stanze semibuie, non avevano nulla a che vedere con il ritiro per scrittori che si era immaginato: gente che scrive a mano, con lo sguardo che si perde lungo prati verdi on-dulati; scrittori che mangiano pranzi al sacco, ciascuno nel suo chalet privato. Frutteti di albicocchi e nuvole di petali bianchi sollevati dal vento. Sonnellini pomeridiani all'ombra di castagni. Croquet.

The uglier the fashions, the worse places we'd have to pose to make them look good. Junkyards. Slaughterhouses. Sewage treatment plants. It's the ugly bridesmaid tactic where you only look good by comparison.

Other reviewers hated it. Oh, they called it too dark." Too violent." Too strident and shrill and dogmatic." They would've loved Barn-Raising Club.

All her life, she never saw a dead person. There was no real sense of life because she had nothing to contrast it with. Oh, but now there was dying and death and loss and grief. Weeping and shuddering, terror and remorse. Now that she knows where we're all going, Marla feels every moment of her life.

Every woman is just a different kind of problem.

What makes the earth feel like Hell is our expectation that it ought to feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Hell is Hell.

Like splicing single frames of pornography into family films.

The single-breasted cut is symmetrical except for the hole pumping out blood.

No sabía bien que era la vida porque no sabía con que contrastarla.

He is less a human-shaped thing and more a pulsing, living band of light. Light that sometimes dims, that sometimes is thrust through with a vein of darkness. She tells herself that it's normal—Luke said to her, Leia, we all have that. He explained that the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Right

Fine. Whatever. She's so unpleasant. Beautiful, sure, but it's like putting a dress on a badger. Pretty dress. Nice face. Still a badger.

All hail the light, the dark, and the grey.

THE HOT WATER'S a scorcher and the cold water's like a winter puddle, and the shower offers nothing in between.

He can punch a gobbo so hard the thing erupts into a rain of gobbo guts, but standing in line at the bank gives him the shivering shits. Interacting with Snakefaces? Fine. Talking to real people? Jesus fuck. The

As a response, she turned toward him with her phone, took a shot. The flash was off - she didn't like the flash, it was too garish, too bold - and what resulted of him in that photo was this half-dark shadow. But it showed his shape, and she liked that. A silhouette she enjoyed.