Quotes About Gray

I put a row of toys on the bed. A brown-haired Barbie doll, then a Lego ambulance...then a gray Buckbeak the Hippogriff.

life isn't black or white. There isn't only one picture that's perfect. It's about piecing together shades of gray to make something quite stunning. And the picture shifts. That's another Dad-ism. Remember his sea shadows? Each time the shadow moves, there's a new image. Only sometimes those clouds are stuck up there, so we're the ones who have to move to see it.

Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shorewards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave.

I have no real training in the history of fine art or furniture; my eye just works by proportions. I react intuitively. In London, it's all about color because the weather is so gray, and in that cold light they look beautiful.

I don't see the world completely in black and white. Sometimes I do.

When the windowpanes start to turn from black to gray, my sisters cradle themselves around me, rocking me like the sea until I can taste the salt of our tears

No! You mean you're the late CHarlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least. Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung these gray hairs and this premature balditude.

You mean you're the late Charlemagne; you must be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least. Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung these gray hairs and this premature balditude.

The day was gray, the color of Europe.

I took them all away, and if ever there was a time I needed distraction, this was it. In complete desolation, I looked at the world above. I watched the sky as it turned from silver to gray to the color of rain. Even the clouds were trying to get away.

I watched the sky as it turned from silver to gray to the color of rain.

el día era gris, el color de Europa

Black is the absence of all color. White is the presence of all colors. I suppose life must be one or the other. On the whole, though, I think I would prefer color to its absence. But then black does add depth and texture to color. Perhaps certain shades of gray are necessary to a complete palette. Even unrelieved black. Ah, a deep philosophical question. Is black necessary to life, even a happy life? Could we ever be happy if we did not at least occasionally experience misery?

There aren't just 2 kinds of people, good and bad, like I thought when I was a kid who got most of his ideas on how people act from TV. There are 3. The third type of people go along to get along, like Deputy F.W.S. Malkin told me to do. Those are the most people in the world and I think they are gray people. They will not hurt you (at least on purpose) but they won't help you much, either. They will say do what you want and God help you.

as if the cops expected the big gray sedan to start up by itself, like that old Plymouth in the horror movie

Not everything is black and white. Much as we would like it to be.

GORSETAIL—very pale gray-and-white tom

Graystripe's thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold.

En lugar de envejecer, enguapezco. Mis canas dan ganas.

Worry - a God, invisible but omnipotent. It steals the bloom from the cheek and lightness from the pulse it takes away the appetite, and turns the hair gray.

So he lay there, desperate as a beetle fallen on its back, trying not to think of all the things he did not want to think of, as the dawn sifted into the room like a radiant gray dust.

I interned for the Knicks for one year doing community relations, but I absolutely hated it. It was a desk job, and the team was not good at all, and I didn't realize how much that correlated to the office. It was just gray, gloomy days.

They crested a rise, and there it was, in the hollow between rolling hills—a low, square building, ghostly gray in the moonlight. Is that it? asked Hamilton. It probably isn't the local opera house, groaned Ian.

she has these strange gray eyes that let me see all the way back to when her scorn shaped men's lives.