The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
when someone speaks he looks at a mouth, not eyes and their colors, which, it seems to him, will always alter depending on the light of a room, the minute of the day. Mouths reveal insecurity or smugness or any other point on the spectrum of character. For him they are the most intricate aspect of faces. He's never sure what an eye reveals. but he can read how mouths darken into callousness, suggest tenderness. One can often misjudge an eye from its reaction to a simple beam of sunlight.
Newt Gingrich was campaigning at a zoo this week and he was bitten by a penguin. Newt Gingrich is always campaigning at zoos. Mitt Romney once did a photo op at a zoo. That was a big mistake, because he stood next to the chameleon, and HE changed colors.
I like vibrant colors.
There is indeed no such thing in life as absolute darkness; one's eyes revolt and hasten to fill the vacuum by floating in sparks, dream patterns, figures whimsical and figures grotesque, shifting and clad in complementary colors, to appease the indignant cups and rods of the retina.
I don't want enemies. I want friends, and I want them in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and loving whoever they want to.
Some colors are very difficult to render, and you must compensate to get the color you want on the screen.
Colors produce a spiritual vibration, the impression they create is important only as a step towards this vibration.
The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music.
The colors of living things begin to fade with the last breath, and the soft, springy skin and supple muscle rot within weeks. But the bones sometimes remain, faithful echoes of the shape, to bear some last faint witness to the glory of what was.
Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on which to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every object; as light, it fills all things, and, like light, it gives its own colors to all.
We become intoxicated with color, with words that speak of color, and with the sun that makes colors brighter.
I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.
Rich colors are typical of a rich nature.
Words, like flowers, have their colors too.
The truth of who we are has nothing to do with religion or the type of car that we drive or the color of our skin. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. And the human experience part is very temporary. So, things like the bar, love, magic, dancing, and colors are there to remind us to not take all of this stuff so seriously.
I've always painted pictures in which human love floods my colors.
Novel writing should never be confused with journalism. Unfortunately, in the case of Primary Colors, a fair number of journalists confused.
Nyquil comes in two colors, red and green, and it's the only thing on the planet that tastes like red and green.
My colors are logically chosen.