Quotes About Colors

In the 1980s, I was quite well known for my knitwear, and a lot of inspiration came from carpets, where I found ways to use structures and colors and depth of colors.

Late afternoon on the West Coast ends with the sky doing all its brilliant stuff.

I like Prague, it's strange. All the houses you see look like Disney sets, with their bright colours.

'Colors' is pretty good. It takes you inside the cop car bit. I like reality myself. I like reality-based kind of movies.

Death is shot through with the details and colours of the lives that were lived.

When I look down the range at the target all I can do is try to distinguish between the different colors.

My grandmother Rosita, my mother Angela and I have probably got different styles but we have very similar tastes. For example, I don't find it hard to use colours or wear knits, since it's something that comes to me naturally.

Milk and his allies wanted their movement to signify hope. So he approached a friend, the graphic designer Gilbert Baker, who suggested a rainbow instead. "A rainbow fit us," said the man who became famous as the "gay Betsy Ross." "It is from nature. It connects us to all the colors—all the colors of sexuality, all the diversity in our community.

I have never tried anything psychedelic, but I've always wanted to. Would I be wrapped up in colors, attacked by sounds, filled with insights about worlds I don't even know exist?

It takes patience and humility to dull your brilliant colors, to put on the mask of the inconspicuous. Do not despair at having to wear such a bland mask--it is often your unreadability that draws people to you and makes you appear a person of power.

In the clear late-autumn light, the forests were a profusion of reds and golds, interrupted occasionally by large patches of black, like holes burnt in a Turkish carpet.

The faint laughter of winds was always about them and the colors of Mistawis, imperial and spiritual, under the changing clouds, were something that cannot be expressed in mere words. Shadows, too. Clustering in the pines until a wind shook them out and pursued them over Mistawis. They lay all day along the shores, threaded by ferns and wild blossoms. They stole around the headlands in the glow of the sunset, until twilight wove them all into one great web of dusk.

There'll be love there, Phil-faithful tender love, such as I'll never find anywhere else in the world-love that's waiting for me. That makes my picture a masterpiece, doesn't it, even if the colours are nit very brilliant?

Each species of wood has its own distinctive patterns and colors, which are revealed when the bowl is turned. —Philip Moulthrop

The fat, pumpkin-colored moon rose, turning bloodstains into shadows. All of the colors of shirts and jackets and uniforms paled to the same shade of gray.

With living colours give my verse to glow: The sad memorial of a tale of woe!

Make-believe colors the past with innocent distortion, and it swirls ahead of us in a thousand ways - in science, in politics, in every bold intention.

I saw the Earth, yes. I saw the colors so magnificent, so vivid, so real. It was hope so large and round, green and blue.

Colors are the smiles of nature.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them.

He stood on the sand watching the double sunset as first one and then the other of Tatooine's twin suns sank slowly behind the distant range of dunes. In the fading light the sands turned gold, russet, and flaming red-orange before advancing night put the bright colors to sleep for another day.

Georgia had felt the colours and the rain, but she would not miss here. And there was something lost. The now-ness of things. It was not pretty.

The voice took Damian right back to a time when Joyce, he and Laurence were sitting at the table playing blackjack. It was all crisp edges and clusters of colours in his head, Joyce's purple cardigan, the gold buttons, the flowers on the table, the orange curtain. The vividness, the immediacy of the image, brought tears to his eyes.