Quotes About Colors

When I work, I wear pants usually because I want to be comfortable. I wear dark colors, especially in winter, because I don't want to concentrate on myself but on what I'm working on. Because I really, really love clothes, I can start to think too much about myself. It's distracting.

In examining witnesses, I learned to ask general questions so as to elicit details with powerful sensory associations: the colors, the sounds, the smells that lodge an image in the mind and put the listener in the burning house.

Route 192 is its own thing, and you can't find that anywhere else. The colors and shapes of the buildings, the way that all the small businesses in a way feed off of the parks and sort of rip off the themes of Disney - you're not going to find that anywhere else.

I became intrigued with colour theory. The absurd pronouncements of the Colour Institute, a group that decides what colours are hot each year or season, amused me.

In this movement of colors I find the essence, which does not arise from a system, or an a priori theory.

I choose colors I like and will photograph well. I don't do color theory!

Colours change: in the morning light, red shines out bright and clear and the blues merge into their surroundings, melting into the greens; but by the evening the reds loose their piquancy, embracing a quieter tone and shifting toward the blues in the rainbow. Yellow flowers remain bright, and white ones become luminous, shining like ghostly figures against a darkening green background.

The sunset spilled on the water and flared across the sky. The sky changed through several colors and became a soft crumbled gray. It was like walking under the roof of an enormous cave where hidden fires burned low.

Segundo, são as tristezas de crepúsculo. O crepúsculo é triste, naturalmente. Não, não há perda nenhuma. Tudo está certo. Não há razões para ficar triste. A despeito disso, no crepúsculo a gente fica. Talvez porque o crepúsculo seja uma metáfora do que é a vida: a beleza efêmera das cores que vão mergulhando no escuro da noite.

G]ood and evil comes in all shades and colors... evil is not prejudiced.... evil just needs an opportunity to work through you.... All of us, no matter what we look like, we all have a common enemy, and that is evil. If we don't understand that and come together, then evil will win.

When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried,When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died,We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie down for an eon or two,Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.

You must tell me about it when you do,' she said. 'When you make love for the first time, I mean. I want to know what you think.' He glanced away from her, out of the window. An ice-cream parlour, a man with a dog, a tree. How was he going to get out of shopping next week? 'It's so wonderful, it's like,' and she left her mouth open while she thought, and then it came to her, and she smiled, 'it's like colours everywhere.

The soul becomes dyed with the colours of its thoughts.

and each of his voices left his body in a different colored soul and floated up towards the sun still singing.

Like Godard, Tati is also remarkably appreciative of the odd beauty that can be revealed in the shapes, patterns and colors created by the technology of planned obsolescence.

I look at my four boys, who are the colors of silt, loam, dust, and clay, an infinite palette for children of their own, and I understand that time erases whiteness altogether.

And autumn ain't so shabby for wow, either. The colors are broccoli and flame and fox fur. The tang is apples, death, and wood smoke. The rot smells faintly of grapes, of fermentation, of one element being changed alchemically into another, and the air is moist and you sleep under two down comforters in a cold room. The trails are not dusty anymore, and you get to wear your favorite sweaters.

There were two bronzes, three browns, a blue and two greens.

The trees in the small copses of wood were just beginning to turn color. The chestnuts like liquid amber deepening here and there; willows still trailed streamers of green. The wild roses in the hedges were long finished, and they showed bunches of orange hips where flowers had been.

On the other hand, he enjoyed seeing Charlotte wear a really beautiful gown of warm coral and russet tones with even a touch of hot scarlet in the brocade. It was brand new; the skirt was perfectly flat at the front and around the hips, not a line possible for everyone. It widened like a bell at the bottom, so cleverly was it cut. It was unadorned; the beauty of the fabric said everything.

It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.

In the Savage Garden you shine beautifully, my friend. You walk as if it is your garden to do with as you please. And in my wanderings, I always return to you. I always return to see the colours of the garden in your shadow, or reflected in your eyes, perhaps, or to hear of your latest follies and mad obsessions.

You never know the palette of the one you kill until the mind disgorges its finest colours.

from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.