Quotes About Neon

I'm in love with the modern worldMassachusetts when it's late at nightAnd the neon when it's cold outsideI've got the radio on

Besides, I came from the eighties, a neon, hair-sprayed decade from which very little music made it out alive.

But London didn't care, she never does when you leave her because she knows for every one that leaves another two arrive. Besides, she was too busy painting on her neon lipstick and dolling herself up in red and gold.

I try to live my life free of regrets, but I do have one style regret that makes me laugh and cringe at the same time. Mum used to dress my brother and me in bright neon bike pants and big baggy t-shirts that were so long you could barely see our bike pants.

I'm a huge fan of Eighties music.

We Got Llamas!" Odd words to see in neon.

a neon sign that reads: MOTE, which is really MOTEL, but the L is burned out. Underneath it says Reasonable Rates, which sounds like us, since we're running low on cash. It actually says Reasonable Rats, but that's only because the E fell off and is lying on the grass. "I don't want any rats, even reasonable ones," grumbles Malik.

Sacrifice and neon lights, Slaveships don't wait, Love many, trust few, And don't be late...

One of my favorite eras is the '80s. I'm an '80s baby to the world, love everything about the '80s.

The low point for neon came in 1982, when Holiday Inn did away with its signature 'Great Sign,' replacing the neon extravaganza with a forgettable green plastic box.

The Ear is the local bar down the block from the agency. It's one of the oldest drinking establishments in New York, and it got its current name because the neon curves on the letter "B" in "Bar" burned out years ago, leaving only "Ear" glowing.

The huge neon sign listed a church affiliation that Grace had never heard of. The motto, according to several signs around the edifice, seemed to indicate that this was "God's House." If that were true, God could use a more creative architect. The structure held all the splendor and warmth of a highway mega-store. The

Perhaps once we might be able to sneak a death past him. Immortal, yes, but not indestructible. I saw that when AM withdrew from my mind, and allowed me the exquisite ugliness of returning to consciousness with the feeling of that burning neon pillar still rammed deep into the soft gray brain matter. He withdrew, murmuring to hell with you. And added, brightly, but then you're there, aren't you.

No matter how much they tried to dress her up with neon and family entertainment she [Las Vegas] was still a whore.

He loved the city most at night. The night hid many of the sorrows. It silenced the city yet brought deep undercurrents to the surface. It was in this dark slipstream that he believed he moved most freely. Behind the cover of shadows. Like a rider in a limousine, he looked out but no one looked in. There was a random feel to the dark, the quirkiness of chance played out in the blue neon light. So many ways to live. And to die.

Michael Connelly

I love the whole futuristic landscape of dark, rainy neon, the mix of Eastern and Western cultures and the beautiful shots of the flying cars.

Within half a block the man was sweating. By the intersection, his clothes were sticking to his body. The Glock tucked behind his right hip was slick with perspiration. Guns, money, and a bunch of high-tech gear. Just like something out of a movie. Except it wasn't. This was real. Turning right, he headed into the large open-air market. It looked as if a car bomb packed with neon paint cans had detonated.

I let the lights and the faces come at me. I let the nerves tap out signals to my brain center. I let go. The pink, green, and yellow neons flashed on and off with a definite rhythm, each with its own particular tempo. Together they screamed out a syncopated color rhapsody. The faces; the cafés; the speed of light, steel cars. Swift; quick. Red; green. Flash; off. Stop; go.

It's not palm trees and neon signs in Florida; it's strip malls, highways, hot sun beating down on you.

I'm obsessed with neon sneakers.

And what better consolation for a dying person than to say to himself: this land bores us? I can imagine those words in neon over the cemetery gates.

The view from the apartment's one window was of another building's gray ferroconcrete wall, which was intermittently lit by the white neon flicker from the Ringer Hut noodle shop sign across the street. As

Los Angeles. . . . It was some sort of organic ruin, an accident of architecture and brutal necessity. The iridescence was somehow almost legible, suggesting a calligraphy of exposed bone, transparencies, experimental skin grafts. The blood of Los Angeles was a red neon wash, a kind of sea of autistic traffic lights.