Quotes About Color

Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and as we pass through them they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its focus

For no one really knows what color is, where it is, even whether it is. (Can it die? Does it have a heart?) Think of a honeybee, for instance, flying into the folds of a poppy: it sees a gaping violet mouth, where we see an orange flower and assume that it's orange, that we're normal. 39.

I do not know the reason for this blue pussy, meant to convey both divine bewilderment and revelation. But I do feel that its color is right. For blue has no mind. It is not wise, nor does it promise any wisdom. It is beautiful, and despite what the poets and philosophers and theologians have said, I think beauty neither obscures truth nor reveals it. Likewise, it leads neither towards justice nor away from it. It is pharmakon. It radiates.

88. Like many self-help books, The Deepest Blue is full of horrifyingly simplistic language and some admittedly good advice. Somehow the women in the book all learn to say: That's my depression talking. It's not "me." 89. As if we could scrape the color off the iris and still see. 90.

But while the color may sap appetite in the most literal sense, it feeds it in others.

97. And now, I think, we can say: a glass bead may flush the world with color, but it alone makes no necklace. I wanted the necklace.

Goethe describes blue as lively color, but one devoid of gladness. "It may be said to disturb rather than enliven.". Is to be in love with blue, then, to be in love with a disturbance? And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionallu incapable of loving you back?

Een vriend zegt dat gender voor hem net zoiets is als kleur. Gender en kleur delen een zekere ontologische onbepaaldheid: het klopt niet helemaal om te zeggen dat een voorwerp een kleur ís, noch om te zeggen dat het een kleur hééft. Ook de context verandert: 'alle katten zijn grijs', et cetera. Ook is kleur niet echt iets 'vrijwilligs'. Maar geen van deze formuleringen betekent dat het voorwerp in kwestie 'kleurloos' is.

If a color could deliver hope, does it follow that it could also bring despair?

And who is to say this afterimage is not equally real? Indigo makes its stain not in the dyeing vat, but after the garment has been removed. It is the oxygen of the air that blues it.

We mainly suppose the experiential quality to be an intrinsic quality of the physical object"—this is the so-called systematic illusion of color. Perhaps it is also that of love.

But what goes on in you when you talk about colour as if it were a cure, when you have not yet stated your disease.

And now, I think, we can say: a glass bead may flush the world with colour, but it alone makes no necklace. I wanted the necklace.

Nonetheless, as Billie Holiday knew, it remains the case that to see blue in deeper and deeper saturation is eventually to move toward darkness.

Joan Mitchell—abstract painter

mine was white organdie with an orange-blossom trim and I didn't want the holly to tear it so she carried the wreath. She cared little for her dress. Scarlet velvet, she'd wanted. Crimson. But she got burgundy taffeta. And she said it didn't fit properly, the seams weren't straight and even I could see that but such things mattered so much to her that

The screen filled with a pure and simple blue in which a few black pixels floated.

El tapiz rojo que ocultaba a Telassim días atrás había sido cambiado por otro azul que presentaba en el centro un gran heptágono estrellado.

You bring me bliss, my rainbow child.

La musica doveva avere il volto di una donna da seddure. Chiudevo gli occhi per immaginarla, per dare colore ai suoi capelli e ai suoi occhi, ma compresi che finché dal mio sax fossero usciti soltanto ragli d' asino, quella ragazza non sarebbe mai esistita.

In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.

Pam?enje je neobi?an umjetnik, mijenja boje života, briše ono što je nezanimljivo i ?uva samo ono najljepše i najuzbudljivije.

C'est peut-être cela, finalement, aimer vraiment. Apprendre à pardonner, sans réserve et surtout sans regrets. Poser son doigt sur la touche d'un clavier, effacer les pages grises pour tout récrire en couleur. Mieux encore, se battre pour que tout finisse bien.

Her blue, almond-shaped eyes - now even more elongated - had altered in appearance; they were indeed of the same colour, but seemed to have passed into a liquid state. So much so that, when she closed them, it was as though a pair of curtains had been drawn to shut out a view of the sea.