Quotes About Color

In Asia, red is the colour of joy; red is the colour of festivities and of celebration. In Chinese culture, blue is the colour of mourning.

American myths have never been colorless.

I love manicures - I'm really into colorful nails.

I read every one of the books on the shelf marked American Negro Literature. I became a nationalist, a colour nationalist, through the writings of men and women who lived a world away from me.

You'll get unsociable people whatever the nationality, colour, race or creed. I guess the British abroad have probably got the worst record of anyone.

It's easiest for me to be blonde because I'm naturally blonde; my roots are light enough that all I have to do is just highlight my hair every few months.

Being depressed means you are trying to see a colorful world through gray filtered eyes

Night thoughts have a different color than day thoughts, a different slant, more than anything else they know all the secret paths and chinks in the armor they can take advantage of to force their way into consciousness.

A.R.'s very apparatus that determines color was damaged, he didn't know what colors were (except in an abstract sense). Denying an objective sensory or motor deficit due to neurological damage is a form of agnosia termed anosognosia. It is really a deficit in self-awareness: not knowing what it is that one no longer knows.

he looked at] her hair the color of cinnamon and decided he didn't like cinnamon. It ruined a good piece of toast as far as he was concerned.

And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.

Blue is beauty, not truth. "True blue" is a ruse, a rhyme; it's there, then it's not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color. Even deep blue is shallow. Blue is glory and power, a wave, a particle, a vibration, a resonance, a spirit, a passion, a memory, a vanity, a metaphor, a dream. Blue is a simile. Blue, she is like a woman.

In the ancient world, blue was a breed of darkness.

They agreed, tacitly, to admire—but not covet—the red flowers. Mrs. Korjev liked the very redness of them. She had always been angry that the Communists had co-opted that color, for otherwise it would have evoked an unbridled happiness in her. Then again, the Russian soul, conditioned by a thousand years of angst, really wasn't equipped for unbridled happiness, so it was probably for the best.

Here, dear, let's try some of this blush to bring up those cheekbones. It's called American Rust, it emulates the color of a '63 Rambler that has been driven on salted roads. Very winter.

Rhunön went up to Saphira's shoulder and tapped a scale with one of her blunt fingernails, twisting her head from side to side in an attempt to peer into the translucent pebble. "Good color. Not like those brown dragons, all muddy and dark.

For three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion or consonance; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color. - William

three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion or consonance; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color.

For three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion or consonance; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color.

a cor não é mais do que a luz do sol aprisionada ...

Redder than a turkey's rump in poke berry time.

The grey hair, which has spoken of old age at once to writers and doctors, means to a painter not just grey hair, but a certain grey – perhaps a grey with silver lights and warm shadows, perhaps an opaque cold grey, but a grey as different from other greys as one chord in music is different from others.

I allowed myself a microscopic view into his ice-colored eyes. It was like viewing one of those photographs of the Arctic region – very foreign, exotic, clearly a place you've never dreamed of going.

According to an eastern fable, the rose was white when God created it, but when, as it unfolded, it felt Adam's eyes upon it, it blushed in modesty and turned pink.