Quotes About Color

But art is not simply works of art; it is the spirit that knows Beauty, that has music in its being and the color of sunsets in its headkerchiefs; that can dance on a flaming world and make the world dance, too.

Have you ever observed a humming-bird moving about in an aerial dance among the flowers--a living prismatic gem that changes its colour with every change of position.

To The Rain" You reach me out of the age of the air clear falling toward me each one new if any of you has a name it is unknown but waited for you here that long for you to fall through it knowing nothing hem of the garment do not wait until I can love all that I am to know for maybe that will never be touch me this time let me love what I cannot know as the man born blind may love color until all that he loves fills him with color

by day the known world lost color my hold on it felt loose I imagine that was part of the grief I knew

Seperation Your absence has gone trough me like thread trough a needle. Everything I do is stiched with it's color.

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

I use very little red. I use blue, yellow, a little green, but especially... black, white and grey. There is a certain need in me for communication with human beings. Black and white is writing.

Communicate with visual literacy - Make good use of all the non-verbal ways of communication - color, shape, form, texture.

While PANTONE 18-3224 Radiant Orchid, the captivating 2014 color of the year, encouraged creativity and innovation, Marsala enriches our mind, body and soul, exuding confidence and stability.

Anybody who perceives colors can become a painter. It's simply a question of whether or not one has felt anything and whether one has the courage to recount the things one has felt.

The problem with dating a model is they won't go out with you if your cars color doesn't match their outfit.

Technicolor makes me look like death warmed over.

... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.

Ere the dolphin dies Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's breath Are tropic winds before the voice of death.

I had no name for that particular hue of orange, other than unfortunate.

The thing I've found about exciting is that it's like fireworks. A big burst of color. It takes your breath away, and then nothing. But something that's always there, while it might not be as exciting, like the stars in the sky, they can still steal your breath.

In Monterey, at the small airport rental agency, he hired a vomit-green Ford Tempo. It was an offense to his refined sense of color. The Tempo's tempo was satisfyingly allegro on flat roads but a bit adagio on the hills.

world is sensation. We drift in an ocean of sensory stimuli: motion, color, texture, shape, heat, cold, natural symphonies of sound, an infinite number of scents, tastes beyond the human ability to catalogue. Nothing but sensation endures. Living things all die. Great cities do not last.

She turned to him, shook her head. Her black hair tossed, and the beams of the late-afternoon sunlight played upon it, sending brief ripples of red and green and blue through it the same way that light, shimmering on the black surface of oil, creates short-lived, wriggling rainbows.

THREE BUTTERFLIES, AERIAL GEISHAS, DANCED out of the sunshine, into the porch shadows. Their silken kimonos flaring and folding and flaring in graceful swirls of color, as bashful as faces hidden behind the pleats of hand-painted fans, they fled, quick, into the brightness from which they had come.

Once the golden phase had passed, the sun used only the red and orange spectrum of its palette to paint the sky in advance of the long night of darkness, and by reflection the harbor waters caught fire.

When you put beads in your knitting, you are really putting bits of light in your knitting. The gleam and color-play of beads add a whole other dimension that could be demure or outrageous, as you please. Your choice of beads and yarn uniquely expresses your personality. —Sivia Harding, designer and teacher

One small, orange flower that looked as if it had fallen down here from Andromeda, surrounded by a part of the world cast mainly in eleven hundred shades of brown, under a sky whose blueness seemed to get lost in it's own distances.

The young man, perched insecurely in the slen­der branches, rocked till he felt slightly drunk, reached down the boughs, where the scarlet beady cherries hung thick underneath, and tore off handful after handful of the sleek, cool-fleshed fruit. Cherries touched his ears and his neck as he stretched forward, their chill fingertips sending a flash down his blood. All shades of red, from a golden vermilion to a rich crimson, glowed and met his eyes under a dark­ness of leaves.