Quotes About Colors

This is about relationships, about the placement of potent colors and the canvas sparkling through. I want the eye to dance across the canvas but direct you, too.

About 25 years ago, when I was 15, I wrote a song called 'Indradhanush', which speaks about the seven colours, equating each with emotions that we as human beings experience.

On the speech day, the production designer, who has a lot of say in things, and sometimes I didn't agree with him but I had to do what I was told, wanted the speech day to be all in neutral colours for the women, which was a good thing.

My initial attraction was just the beauty. The colors were so beautiful, the spheres were so nearly perfect.

When I was little, my mum would take me to see the orchestra, tell me to close my eyes and think about the story the music was telling. I always spoke about colours. I'd talk about how purple the oboe was.

I have tried to be impartial, though I know that a man's past always colors his views, and that nothing else is so irritating as impartiality.

The sand was hard-packed and solid and wet, speckled all over with cockle shells in colors and patterns of such profusion and variety that they must have given the first Dutchmen the idea to go out into the sea and bring back precious things from afar.

She got lost then in the striations in the iris of Edda's left eye. These were immensely complex, and of all colors, having about them the same balance of order and wildness as exposed tree roots, tendrils of smoke in the wind, tongues of wild flame, the swirling of water where rivers came together.

Three weeks ago, he'd seen hail fall from the sky, only to be followed minutes later by a spectacular rainbow that seemed to frame the azalea bushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it's important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion.

My natural gravitation is toward the gray and the black and the white and the burgundy. Sort of muted, cool colors.

Si's beard is really awkward. One side is longer than the other, and it's about three different colors. I don't think he washes it. It's nasty.

Light in Nature creates the movement of colors.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

She was his. The lifemate he had endured centuries of emptiness waiting for. She was his world. The light. The colors he thought he had lost forever. She was the ecstasy he never knew existed. And she was with him for eternity.

Tuck watched the sun bubble into the ocean. Columns of vertical cumulus clouds turned to cones of pink cotton candy, then as the sun became a red wafer on the horizon, they turned candy-apple red, with purple rays reaching out of them like searchlights. The water was neon over wet asphalt, blood-spattered gunmetal—colors from the cover of a detective novel where heroes drink hard and beauty is always treacherous.

Four identical brushes loaded with different colors poked through the fingers of his left hand, as if he had snatched some great, gangly insect out of the air and its multicolored legs were shot with rigor mortis or surprise.

On the white wall at the end of the room was a large oil painting of a European port, done in reds and yellows and blues. It was in slapdash modern style; the lady had painted it herself and signed it. She had given it pride of place in her main room. Yet she hadn't thought it worth the trouble of taking away.

I remember the old northern legend of how God created the taiga while he was still a child. There were few colors, but they were childishly fresh and vivid, and their subjects were simple. Later, when God grew up and became an adult, he learned to cut out complicated patters from his pages and created many bright birds. God grew bored with his former child's world and he threw snow on his forest creation and went south forever.

Un sceptique qui adhère à un croyant cela est simple comme la loi des couleurs complémentaires.Ce qui nous manque nous attire.

So different are the colours of life, as we look forward to the future, or backward to the past; and so different the opinions and sentiments which this contrariety of appearance naturally produces, that the conversation of the old and young ends generally with contempt or pity on either side.

I'm born with a pencil in my hand. I did lots of sketching. I've only wanted paper and beautiful colors. It was my dream, and it still is my dream. And books. They're all I need, and the rest I can do without.

Voor mij kon liefde geen plicht zijn, ik wist alleen hoe ik van lichaam en geest kon houden. En dat betekende houden van een massa kleuren, houden van wat je het gevoel geeft dat je leeft. Het betekende ook houden van onvolmaaktheid.

His beauty did not blaze like Will's did in fierce colors and repressed fire, but it had its own muted perfection, the loveliness of snow falling against a silver gray sky.

He was all silver and ashes, not like Will's strong colors of blue and black and gold.