Best 3019 quotes in «color quotes» category

The things that we preceive as beautiful may be different, but the actual characteristics we ascribe to beautiful objects are similar. Think about it. When something strikes us as beautiful, it displays more presence and sharpness of shape and vividness of color, doesn't it? It stands out. It shines. It seems almost iridescent compared to the dullness of other objects less attractive.

The things you think about determine the quality of your mind. Your soul takes on the color of your thoughts.

The three greatest people in my life as a young person were white, my high school superintendent, my high school coach and a - I graduate in Manhasset High, Kenneth Molloy who's a mentor to yours truly.I'm not a person that really deal in color.

The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

The tragedy is women of color have made more progress in basketball than they have in broadcasting.

The tree is stripped, All color, fragrance gone, Yet already on the bough, Uncaring spring!

The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood.

The truth is that no one who hasn't actually experienced the senseless chaos and violence of combat can possibly understand it, but those who have and who try to explain it to the rest of us are offering us a precious gift: a part of their soul that's been scorched in the flames of Hell. It's a little like trying to describe music to the deaf or color to the blind ... to make the irrational somewhat sensible, which is always confusing and frustrating, and ultimately futile.

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.

The uglier, older, meaner, iller, poorer I get, the more I wish to take my revenge by doing brilliant color, well arranged, resplendent.

(The United States) is the same as al-Qaeda, under a different color flag, calling on the name a different God to sanction and approve our murder and our mayhem!

The university should color itself black and color itself mulatto — not just as regards students but also professors. Today the people stand at the door of the university, and it is the university that must be flexible. It must color itself black, mulatto, worker, peasant, or else be left without doors. And then the people will tear it apart and paint it with the colors they see fit.

The unpadded shoulders, the three-buttoned long and boxy coat, the too-short, thin pants, and the thin ties with striped buttoned shirts in dark colors-well, I suppose this may go very well with some personalities but it's not for me. To me, all such look like TV producers. Maybe they want to.

The use of expressive colors is felt to be one of the basic elements of the modern mentality, an historical necessity, beyond choice.

The U. S. is becoming more hostile to Black people and other people of color. Racism is running rampant and xenophobia is on the rise

the very notion of blindness about color constitutes an ideological confusion at best, and denial at its very worst.

The vivacity and brightness of colors in a landscape will never bear any comparison with a landscape in nature when it is illumined by the sun, unless the painting is placed in such a position that it will receive the same light from the sun as does the landscape.

The water color process takes me and itself to a destination I hadn't even known existed... Whatever I put down on the page, the paint will dry as it wants to.

The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.

The Westerners have lost the vision of heaven, they go hunting for the pure spirit in the belly. The pure soul takes not color and scent from the body, and Communism has nothing to do save with the body.

The white poor also suffer deprivation and the humiliation of poverty if not of color. They are chained by the weight of discrimination though its badge of degradation does not mark them. It corrupts their lives, frustrates their opportunities and withers their education. In one sense it is more evil for them because it has confused so many by prejudice that they have supported their own oppressors.

The whole body reacts to color. If you were to walk into an all-neon-pink room, it would be difficult not to react. I think it is a unified, human thing to feel color with everything. It is like standing next to a bass speaker plugged into your eyeballs.

The West is color. Its colors are animal rather than vegetable, the colors of earth and sunlight and ripeness.

The white light streams down to be broken up by those human prisms into all the colors of the rainbow. Take your own color in the pattern and be just that.

The whites were really brutishly ignorant, blitheringly, so they killed people sometimes - just came into the African-American community and maimed people because they didn't agree with God's choice for the colors of the people's skin.

The whole life with a wife is like an end game with two bishops of different colors.

The whole world, as we experience it visually, comes to us through the mystic realm of color. Our entire being is nourished by it. This mystic quality of color should likewise find expression in a work of art.

The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the name of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever.

The whole world, as we experience it visually, comes to us through the mystic realm of color.

The word itself has another color. It’s not a word with any resonance, although the e was once pronounced. There is only the bump now between b and l, the relief at the end, the whew. It hasn’t the sly turn which crimson takes halfway through, yellow’s deceptive jelly, or the rolled-down sound in brown. It hasn’t violet’s rapid sexual shudder or like a rough road the irregularity of ultramarine, the low puddle in mauve like a pancake covered in cream, the disapproving purse to pink, the assertive brevity of red, the whine of green.

The world is chiefly a mental fact. From mind it receives the forms of time and space, the principle of casuality[sic], color, warmth, and beauty. Were there no mind, there would be no world.

The world is colors and motion, feelings and thoughts and what does math have to do with it?  Not much, if 'math' means being bored in high school, but in truth mathematics is the one universal science.  Mathematics is the study of pure pattern and everything in the cosmos is a kind of pattern.

The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music.

They are saying that if life has a structure, a staff, a sensible scaffold, we hang our nonsense on it. And they are saying that broken parts add color and music to the staff of life.

They all laugh. We all laugh. And it occurs to me that I might be meeting Tobias's true faction. They are not characterized by a particular virtue. They claim all colors, all activities, all virtues, and all flaws as their own.

They call themselves the Ku Klux Klan and they hate pretty much everyone who isn't like them. If you have the wrong color, religion, or birthplace, they don't like you. Around here it's mostly foreigners they hate.

The young girl in my story is to be as sensitive to praise as a prism is to light. Whenever anybody praises her she breaks into colors.

They judge me like a picture book, by the colors, like they forgot to read.

They're keeping friction going between people from the East and the West. One thing we all got in common is your color, which is Black and Latino, which is our family.

They’re not hideous,” said Tessa. Will blinked at her. “What?” “Gideon and Gabriel,” said Tessa. “They’re really quite good-looking, not hideous at all.” “I spoke,” said Will, in sepulchral tones, “of the pitch-black inner depths of their souls.” Tessa snorted. “And what color do you suppose the inner depths of your soul are, Will Herondale?” “Mauve,” said Will.

Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only shapes. Of a certain size and color. A certain weight. When their meaning has become lost to us they no longer have even a name. The story on the other hand can never be lost from its place in the world for it is that place.

They that are against Superstition oftentimes run into it of the wrong side. If I will wear all colours but black, then am I superstitious in not wearing black.

They were wrestling with canvases, using violent colors and huge brush strokes. I arrived with gray, silent, sober, oppressed paintings. One critic said they were paintings that thought.

Think positive thoughts, intensely. Grow enthusiastic images, boldly. Speak only wonderful words to yourself, constantly. Feel fantastic, NOW! This colors your view of the world. Like a magnet, you attract the resources necessary to manifest the world you desire.

This being Black History Month, I would like to ask people to celebrate the similarities and not focus on the differences between people of color and not of color.

Think of color, pitch, loudness, heaviness, and hotness. Each is the topic of a branch of physics

This can be one of cheerfulness or gloom because color which is so inexpensive, is what does the trick. Not color alone but color plus imaginative lighting and cleverly grouping of the furniture. You say you have an old lobby that nothing much can be done with? Oh yes it can!

This art of conservation is strength, and makes the masterpiece a masterpiece. Otherwise, the man who simply brought all the different colors obtainable, and squeezed them out upon the canvas to give it 'full force,' would be the greatest master, instead of being merely extravagant.

this blue shirt i have is practically the same color as my jeans, and looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.

This film [ Blue is the Warmest Color] actually is the result of me talking with my producer Vincent [Maraval]. I gave him a bunch of ideas and then Vincent helped guide me and develop this particular film. I enjoy that rapport to have somebody else help guide me in my choices for the next film. The poetic way of looking at it is which project is going to choose me as a director.