Quotes About Paint

I did not know that history is like a blood stain that keeps on showing on the wall no matter how many new owners take possession, no matter how many times we pint over it.

You might be a redneck if you've ever hauled a can of paint to the top of a water tower to defend your sister's honor.

You can't paint over a bad experience with good advertising or marketing.

Artificial culture is paint. Real culture is patina.

If the laws of division were correct, a Motel 3 would be half as good as Motel 6. And right they were. It resembled a two-story slab of pancake-colored timeshares, the paint looking like it hadn't received a second coat since before Sherwin married Williams.

And also the new excitement and variety of ways that the abstract expressionists were applying paint. You could put it on as though it were colored air and it would be painting.

With my game, my biggest asset is being a point guard who can get into the paint.

Definitely, my whole life I've played as a point guard. I've tried to get in the paint, and I've tried to develop for others.

The real sustains the same relation to the ideal that a stone does to a statue - or that paint does to a painting. Realism degrades and impoverishes.

The kitchen went so quiet that I could hear the grease dropping from the chickens on the spit. Not a sound else was to be heard except the littler sounds of the new paint finding homes in the cracks, and the table getting comfortable on the new tiles, and the chair resting itself, and my breath coming slow and steady and making

The point is," Sid Morris says. "This. Now. Paint on your brush, wind at your back, my crappy studio. This is the only certainty. Here: your sensations; your body existing for its moment in time. Everything else is crap.

What's the woman doing there? he asked. Covering a scratch on the hood. She was cheaper than a new paint job. He flipped through a few more pages of barely dressed women and classic cars. Nick used to have magazines like this when we were kids. But without the cars. He rotated a photo sideways. Or the bathing suits.

A vivid thought brings the power to paint it; and in proportion to the depth of its source is the force of its projection.

We know that madness belongs to love,--what power to paint a vile object in hues of heaven.

Once, Turner had himself lashed to the mast of a ship for several hours, during a furious storm, so that he could later paint the storm. Obviously, it was not the storm itself that Turner intended to paint. What he intended to paint was a representation of the storm. One's language is frequently imprecise in that manner, I have discovered.

There are no ordinary feelings just as there are no ordinary spring days or kicked-over cans of paint. Are feelings ever succinct? The haiku is quick but its ripples to the horizon go.

The early meeting-houses in country parishes were seldom painted, such outward show being thought vain and extravagant. In the middle of the eighteenth century paint became cheaper and more plentiful, and a gay rivalry in church-decoration sprang up. One meeting-house had to be as fine as its neighbor.

There's certainly pressure to find your audience early. You need to paint the picture, but it's tough trying to find the balance between a show that people can tune in on any given week while still grabbing the people who are there every week.

For me, in trying to talk about something like policing, it's such a huge issue, and it's an issue that's very local and very personalized to communities, to cities, to legislators, and so, in that way, I think as we started looking into talking about policing, the thing that you realize is that you can't paint everything with the same brush.

There's something so inspiring about being in real locations, where you can feel the tactile qualities from the layer of paint that has been chipping off and the hundreds of years that have been lived in the space.

for we are all amateurs at life, but if we do not focus too much on our mistakes, a miraculous picture emerges. And we learn that it's not the beauty of the image that warrants our gratitude--it's the chance to paint.

Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory? We do not walk through a passive landscape. The paint dries eventually. We collide with place, which is another name for God, and limp away with a permanent injury. Ask for a blessing? You can try, but we will not remain unscathed.

The paint doesn't move the way the light reflects, so what's there to be faithful to? I am faithful to you, darling. I say it to the paint. The bird floats in the unfinished sky with nothing to hold it.

Adrian: Do you smell that?" Sydney: "I smell the paint, and . . . wait . . . is that pine?" Adrian: "Damn straight. Pine-scented cleaner. As in, I cleaned. With these hands, these hands that don't do manual labor.