Quotes About Description

Our generation has been described as a golden generation. I hate that term.

In fact, one of the descriptions of the character in the book is that 'IT' was not very good at replicating human emotions. And that's something that is overlooked in general.

I don't think I would describe my sense of humor. Doesn't sound like the kind of thing I'd do.

white with a big round head

Tayend nodded. "I know it won't. I admit I was worried about you, but you are still your old self, underneath." Dannyl straightened in protest. "Underneath what?" The Elyne stood up, waving one hand in Dannyl's direction. "All…that." "I'm reeling at your descriptive clarity," Dannyl told him.

Kestrel of the SkyWings?" Cirrus said. "Big, red, grumpy-looking?" "You've just described fifty percent of all SkyWings," said the MudWing sitting on top of Turtle. "The other half is big, orange, and grumpy-looking.

I was just being honest and descriptive." "No, you were being an asshole." "It's not my fault they have to always be the same thing.

Samuel Spade's jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more flexible v of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller, v. His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The V motif was picked up again by thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his pale brown hair grew down--from high flat temples--in a point on his forehead. He looked rather pleasantly like a blond Satan.

Samuel Spade's jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more flexible v of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller, v. His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The v motif was picked up again by thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his pale brown hair grew down—from high flat temples—in a point on his forehead. He looked rather pleasantly like a blond satan.

That's what it was. He wasn't any more Wynant than I am. You know how it is: we told the Philly police he'd sent a wire from there and broadcasted his description, and for the next week anybody that's skinny and maybe got whiskers is Wynant to half of the State of Pennsylvania.

A woman stood between them holding a sizzling skillet in her hand. She was a big-boned, full-fleshed, red-haired woman of perhaps twenty-eight, handsome in a rather brutal, sloppy way.

he was a roly-poly elderly man with a stoop and a waddle—

She had large, wide-set green eyes, and long brown hair that curled slightly and turned to gold at the tips. She wore a long, straight blue dress that accentuated the slimness of her frame. She was perhaps an inch taller than Peter, and by the look of her she took baths.

Simply by eliminating description, the screenwriter can work his way through the entire plot in a single morning, leaving the afternoon free for screenwriter leisure activities such as drugs.

or-Nothing Thinking. You look at things in absolute, black-or-white categories, as if shades of gray do not exist, and you think of yourself as either a complete success or total failure. This dichotomous way of thinking can make life pretty miserable and make you feel like a zero, or nothing, most of the time. In addition, you can't accurately describe yourself or the world in black-or-white categories. Things are rarely totally horrible or absolutely perfect.

A like N.B. that Ewell ends up inserting under the heading Biker is that every professional tattooist everybody who can remember getting their tattoos remembers getting them from was, from the sound of everybody's general description, a Biker.

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description.

Depression is a disorder of mood, so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it becomes known to the self—to the mediating intellect—as to verge close to being beyond description.

In prose... at any moment the door will open, someone will enter, something will happen. In poetry, the description itself must happen.

Even boredom must be described with passion.

You cannot describe the universe completely with any accuracy unless you're willing to admit that it's both physical and mental in nature.

a meat cleaver of a vocabulary when it comes to describing people. In the Tarahumara tongue, humans come in only two forms: there are Rarámuri, who run from trouble, and chabochis, who cause it.

A description of autism must be anecdotal; without anecdotes there are words but not experience.

While I know you (and I) hold brevity to be the soul of wit, description should not be the second-class citizen