Right before I went to Pacifica, I had written and performed a one-woman show and I consider that to be my original art form. Spaulding Grey and Karen Finley and other spoken word artists and performance artists really very much interested me, that art form.
Grey zones do not interest me at all.
Some days my thoughts are just cocoons -- all cold, and dull, and blind, They hang from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind; And other days they drift and shine -- such free and flying things! I find the gold-dust in my hair, left by their brushing wings.
My days could be described as an ever changing palette of blues, greens, browns, and golds. Mostly because of surfing and garden-gazing. On tour, the colors are desaturated by florescent lights and dull grey carpets.
He is spent. His mind is mercury again, its brief surge of humanity melting into an oily residue on its surface, and he no longer understands the feelings he felt in that strange moment on the overpass. But he did feel them. They did happen. They rest on the murky seabed of his mind, buried under sand and silt and miles of grey waves. Patient seeds waiting for light.
I'm trying to incorporate colour into my life. Until recently, everything in my closet was black, white, grey, navy or olive.
You are always learning; there is a lot of grey; don't take things for granted.
I am black or white, I'll never be grey in my life.
See shades of grey. . . Act anyway
The world isn't black and white, Annie, it's shades of grey.
These little grey cells. It is up to them.
What is a woman that you forsake her, And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, To go with the old grey Widow-maker?
In a sense, the story, or poem or verse or whatever it is you're writing, you can kind of think of it as a kind of projectile. Imagine it is a kind of projectile which has been specially shaped to be aerodynamic, and that your target is the soft grey putty of the reader's brain.
A rose looks grey at midnight, but the flame is just asleep. And steel is strong because it knows the hammer and white heat.
Grey has no agenda. . . . Grey has the ability, that no other colour has, to make the invisible visible.
Whenever there is discussion, I make it clear that I do not want any grey zones, just black and white.
Common sense is the guy who tells you that you ought to have had your brakes relined last week before you smashed a front end this week. Common sense is the Monday morning quarterback who could have won the ball game if he had been on the team. But he never is. He's high up in the stands with a flask on his hip. Common sense is the little man in a grey suit who never makes a mistake in addition. But it's always someone else's money he's adding up.
All the fear in the world, and the violence that comes from the fear, and the hatred that comes from the violence, and the lonliness that comes from the hatred. All the unhappiness, all the cruelty, it gathers like clouds in the air, and grows dark and cold and heavy, and falls like grey snow in thick layers over the land. Then the world is muffled and numb, and no one can hear each other or feel each other. Think how sad and lonely that must be.
Lawyers are predators in grey worsted
Money has no grey areas. You either make it or you lose it.