Quotes About Crimson

Elric turned his face towards her, his crimson-irised eyes burning with a strange emotion. He put a hand to his dead white skin and a crooked smile twisted his lips. "I, too, have felt as you do," he said quietly.

So many nurses had turned into emotionally disturbed handmaidens of the war, in their yellow-and-crimson uniforms with bone buttons.

Seeing the bed, the crimson and eboy and golden canopy looped up over it, the covers spilled about, and her whiteness glowing against them as she approached, Leopardo knew a moment's utter and uncomprehending horror.

The colour of a British wood in autumn is predominantly yellow. There are relatively few European trees which have red leaves in the autumn. But there are splashes of crimson or rust-red colours from a few indigenous trees, like the rowan, as well as from introduced species, like the North American red oak.

I want to bask deeply in the taste of his blood, in that flowing crimson filled with his feelings melted in it...

I like 'Discipline.' That's my favorite King Crimson album.

My first cassette was 'Synchronicity,' and my first CD was U2 'War' and King Crimson 'Discipline.'

For a moment...for a moment. We are eternal. We are every warrior forced to kill and die for a cause no one will remember in years to come. Every adversary who ever felt blade cleave into bone. Every crimson-stained fighter who died for nothing. I imagine the first beings left here by the gods died thus. And when the sun sets on our race, the last two men will have their brothers' blood on their blades.

Pochyleni w wysokich siodÅ'ach swych quorlów Czarni Moranthowie lÅ›nili niczym Å›liskie od krwi diamenty w karmazynowym blasku cienkiej jak miecz smugi jutrzenki.

The whole world looked red to him, shadows were crimson, the sunset above the spires of the city an incredible blaze of infernal hues.

Tonight the sky is the color of my heart, bleeding crimson for my love

Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

The Wound I climbed to the crest, And, fog-festooned, The sun lay west Like a crimson wound: Like that wound of mine Of which none knew, For I'd given no sign That it pierced me through.

However, October is a fine and dangerous season in America. It is dry and cool and the land is wild with red and gold and crimson, and all the lassitudes of August have seeped out of your blood, and you are full of ambition. It is a wonderful time to begin anything at all. You

'Crimson' is written in a very particular style, and it's very precise in the way it graduates into a gothic romance. The souls that will connect with it will connect deeply.

A whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head Warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.

She sighed. "I wish I had their faith. Crimson is a Lannister color." "That thing's not crimson," Ser Brynden said. "Nor Tully red, the mud red of the river. That's blood up there, child, smeared across the sky." "Our blood or theirs?" "Was there ever a war where only one side bled?

Yet knowing the physics steals none of the wonder as the sky turns from blue to crimson, then deep purple, and finally embraces the black of night as Earth's rotation

When George first told me about the title, I wasn't so sure he was serious," Burtt says. "It seemed like such an extreme-sounding pulp title. But that's what we were making: a big version of those old serials, with names like 'Fate Takes the Wheel' or 'The Crimson Ghost Strikes Out.' 

So many nurses had turned into emotionally disturbed handmaidens of the war, in their yellow-and-crimson uniforms with bone buttons.

Men look to the East for the dawning things, for the light of a raising sun But they look to the West, to the crimson West, for the things that are done, are done.

Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world. A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes. He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct; they were here. Or was it a trap?

Come and be worshiped, come and be caressed, 270  My dark Vanessa, crimson-barred, my blest My Admirable butterfly! Explain How could you, in the gloam of Lilac Lane, Have let uncouth, hysterical John Shade Blubber your face, and ear, and shoulder blade?

Progesterone is not a minimalist hormone. It leans toward excess, toward velvet, toward a thickening of the blood. Under its spell, the womb's endometrial mat goes from a thin brown covering to a thick crimson pile, a wild, expensive carpet, bedding fit for a king. No amount of money could buy a mattress with the thickness, the precision, the pure comfort that progesterone produces; here is where you started your first perfect sleep. Shhh.