Quotes About Bright

Tom Brokaw has friends who are actors, and yet he feels that, as bright as they are, they are not articulate. So he said how astonished he was that Sidney Poitier, with whom he'd just taped an interview, had been so articulate.

My goal as a novelist is to create smart entertainment, books that keep bright people up too late, that make them want to read just one more chapter. Books that have ideas threaded in amidst the thrilling bits, ideas that I hope linger even after people close the book.

Can't get that drummer boy out of my inner eye. He's stuck in there like a floating thing. I guess he should a got more from living than he did. Brave lad out of Missouri and cheery and not expecting nothing. His head rolling about a lonesome meadow in Virginia. Bright eyes and now they put him in a hole. By God it wouldn't even be good enough to weep for him.

Under the spell of the mighty Carpathians, with the breath of her creation blowing over her heart, Amalia's Gift splintered. She was given two futures: one dark, one bright, the same mortal lover pulling her two-handed into each. Every step she took lured her closer to the dark.

Here a tower shining bright Once stood gleaming in the night Where now There's just the rubble in the hole from "White City

The doings of the quarry had always seemed some bright, forbidden secret. Now it was her secret, and holding it to herself felt warm and delicious, like drinking the last cup of honeyed tea.

I had been right the first time. His sonorous voice echoed through a hollow place of sorrow, catching its reverberations from those ragged walls. His gaiety masked a deep well of loneliness; he was a bright outward shape wrapped around shadows.

Now his grin lit his face with a sunny halo.

Memory: a golden bowl, or a basement without light. For which reason the nightmare comes with its painful story and says: you need to know this. Some memories I would give anything to forget. Others I would not give up upon the point of death, they are the bright hawks of my life.

The gorilla's fur was very black against the green leaves. She had large nostrils and small ears. Her bright brown eyes were full of mischief.

The only thing I could distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure.

misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self.

The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.

Certain memories, like the imaginary balloons Yassi made with her delicate hands when she was happy, rise from somewhere in the depths of what we call memory. Like balloons, these memories are light and bright and irretrievable, despite the 'air sadness' (Bellow's term) surrounding them.

The audacity of hope! I still remember my grandmother, singing in the house, 'There's a bright side somewhere Ã¢â'¬Â¦ don't rest till you find it Ã¢â'¬Â¦.'" "That's right!" "The audacity of hope!

The density of the butterflies in the air now gave her a sense of being underwater, plunged into a deep pond among bright fishes.

A thousand fishes make the school, but they always move together: one great, bright, brittle altogetherness.

I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.

She appears sunny, a quality that Mirabelle can call upon only for special occasions.

a real scholar with a bright pen

Already the dream was coming apart, its bright silk strands unwinding into nebulous emotions, little coloured clouds of feeling being dispersed by the movement of my waking-up mind. This is how it's always been with Light Bulb Fragment dreams; by the time I'm fully awake, they're gone.

I love tunnels. They 're the symbol of hope: sometime it will be bright again. If by chance it is not night.

We're a compulsive but amiable crew, those of us who feel, or have felt, the compulsion to re-record the bright thoughts of other men and women.

SHE FELT a hard pinch on her neck. "Hey!" she protested. Her eyelids flew open. The light was unbearably bright, just as painful, but everything was gauzy and indistinct, like there was a white scrim over everything. She wondered whether she'd fallen back asleep for several hours.