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Colors Quotes

Browse 231 quotes about Colors.

Colors Quotes

“A relationship that is truly genuine does not keep changing its colors. Real gold never rusts. If a relationship is really solid and golden, it will be unbreakable. Not even Time can destroy its shine.”

LoveLifeRealTruthTimeFriendshipLove QuotesBusinessMarriageFriendsMarriedRelationship QuotesGoldDatingTrue LoveGenuineGoldenTrueSincereArtificialLovingColorsAuthenticRustShineRelationships 101PreciousUnbreakableRelationships AdviceBusiness PartnersSolidLove RelationshipsPartnershipsPrecious MetalsTest Of LoveTrue Relationships
Book:Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
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“The roses are fading. Turmeric petals soften to the color of old dusters, magenta becomes palest violet, edges that were dark and sumptuous turn to the color of a tea stain. What was once as white as snow is now buttermilk. Their texture changes too: petals soft and strong enough to support a portly bumblebee dry to walnut-colored fragments frail and aging till they shatter.”

RosesColorsWitheringDried Flower
Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“Atmospheric dust billows in polychromed glitter above me, the vibrant, shimmering haze decorating the blue-blackness of space, and its luminous, variegated hues remind me of the one wish I made on countless stars—I wanted to live in a world of colors, where I could travel to bright and exotic places, where I could see and do magical things. Well, here I am in the most exotic of places, in a world of vivid radiance, with magic all around me. How was I to know the countless times I made that wish I should have specified that those places be free of evil monsters?”

StarsSpaceMonstersVampiresZombiesColorfulMonsterColorsShiftersWish Upon A Star
Book:Dorothy in the Land of Monsters
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“Late July. Friends arrive bearing gifts. A shallow white cardboard box turns out to be carrying a cluster of flat white peaches, their soft pink cheeks nudging one another. The scent of roses teases as I open the lid. Eight plump navels, their parchment skin flushed with brushstrokes of rose and carmine.”

GiftColorsPeachesFlat
Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that invisible soul pervading reality. To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul; To be a lantern in the darkness Or an umbrella in a stormy day; To feel much more than know. To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain; To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon; To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves; To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching. To be a smile on the face of a woman And shine in her memory As a moment saved without planning.”

WorldSoulMatterFeelingsRealityPoetryUnderstandingCitiesDarknessPowerTreeStreetsShapesMoonMountainSmileMemoryWaveFlyingPlanningInvisibleEyesPoetsDejan StojanovicReadMomentKnowFeelFaceUmbrellaColorsShineFlyEtherealLeavesWatchingSoundsWhisperEagleLanternSubstancesPedestrianStormy DayTask Of A PoetFace Of A WomanImperceptible
Author:Dejan Stojanovic
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“Yimello,' said Bernard finally, breaking the silence. 'Gesundheit?' I asked. 'It's a name for one of the colors that's invisible to us. Yimello," said Bernard. "There could also be glowl and novaly and replitz." 'Yes.' I nodded, stunned the kid could actually string together so many words at once. 'And, uh, don't forget the beautiful grynn, the luminous dulloff, or the subtle winooze.' Bernard's face lit up. He stood and started pacing the room, speaking quickly. 'Or salty, and insomnia, and carefree, and talkative, and lonely, and burnt, and punctual.' 'Some of my favorite colors,' I agreed, nodding. 'We could paint this room whisper. Or zigzag. Or maybe a nice shade of ignored and invisible.”

FeelingsPaintingLonelyInvisibleShadeIgnoredInsomniaLuminousColorsCarefreePunctualTalkativeSaltyGesundheitBurntDulloffGlowlGrynnNovalyReplitzWinoozeYimelloZigzag
Book:Confessions of an Imaginary Friend
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“A JEWELRY STORE NAMED INDIA If you hold this Dazzling emerald Up to the sky, It will shine a billion Beautiful miracles Painted from the tears Of the Most High. Plucked from the lush gardens Of a yellowish-green paradise, Look inside this hypnotic gem And a kaleidoscope of Titillating, Soul-raising Sights and colors Will tease and seduce Your eyes and mind. Tell me, sir. Have you ever heard A peacock sing? Hold your ear To this mystical stone And you will hear Sacred hymns flowing To the vibrations Of the perfumed Wind.”

SoulPoetryBeautyTearsWindPoemGardenIndiaSacredAncientIndianPerfumeMiraclesJewelryHymnsGemsColorsSuzy KassemIndian CulturePeacockKaleidoscopeStoneHypnoticEmeraldMost HighHindustanStoresacred
Book:Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
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“Do you want to make more money and increase your attractive mojo? In a 2012 study published in the Journal of Hospitality and Tourism Research, waitresses who wore red received 15 to 26% more in tips from male customers. In a different study, when women wore a red t-shirt, it increased a female hitchhiker’s chances of getting a ride.”

SuccessMoneyFashionRedProsperityColorsClothingTattoosWaitersWaitresses
Book:The Power of Tattoos: Twelve Hidden Energy Secrets of Body Art Every Tattoo Enthusiast Should Know
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“Things could change, Gabe," Jonas went on. "Things could be different. I don't know how, but there must be some way for things to be different. There could be colors. And grandparents," he added, staring through the dimness toward the ceiling of his sleepingroom. "And everybody would have the memories." "You know the memories," he whispered, turning toward the crib. Garbriel's breathing was even and deep. Jonas liked having him there, though he felt guilty about the secret. Each night he gave memories to Gabriel: memories of boat rides and picnics in the sun; memories of soft rainfall against windowpanes; memories of dancing barefoot on a damp lawn. "Gabe?" The newchild stirred slightly in his sleep. Jonas looked over at him. "There could be love," Jonas whispered.”

LoveColorsGabriel
Book:The Giver
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“There are times today when Rachel looks at Zach and sees an effusion, she sees him in colours of yellow and blue, sun and sky. She sees the yellow crew-neck jumper and blue jeans the boy of eight years old appeared in the day he came to Chelsea from the Coram Family via the two or three previous fosterers who returned him there, defeated, pronouncing him uncommunicative and maladroit in the extreme, animal, said one; unruly. So why this boy? For Katya the fractious? Of all the orphan boys in the world, why him? Of all potential mothers, why Katya? What did she see? Everyone has a part and a destiny. Rachel remembers the yellow jumper the boy rarely removed, even after the family shopping spree for a new wardrobe at Harrods followed by lunch in a restaurant with napkins large as small tablecloths, and heavy cutlery and wine for Katya and Lev and a pervasive daunting hush. Zach had never been to a restaurant before and chose spaghetti, because he knew what it was. He ate it with knife and fork. On the day he arrived in Chelsea, he stopped in the vestibule to slip his feet from lace-ups without undoing the bows, removing his shoes with institutional efficiency, left hand still held in Katya's right. Rachel sees that boy still, blue and yellow. Sky and sun.”

DestinyMemoryMetaphorDescriptionAdoptionColorsBe My WolffEmma Richler
Book:Be My Wolff
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“Anger, he smiles, towering in shiny metallic purple armor. Queen Jealousy Envy waits behind him—her fire green gown sneers at the grassy ground. Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted, they quietly understand. Once-happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready, But wondering why the fight is on. But they're all bold as love...just ask the Axis. Red, so confident, he flashes trophies of war and ribbons of euphoria. Orange is young, full of daring, But very unsteady for the first go-round. Yellow in this case is not so mellow, In fact, I'm trying to say, it's frightened like me. And all these emotions of mine keeps holding me back from giving my life to rainbow you.”

FearConfidenceEmotionsAngerJealousyRainbowColorsPersonificationLove SongAxis Bold As Love
Book:Cherokee Mist: The Lost Writings
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“The voiceover promised a baker in Terre Haute, Indiana, who saw colors when he heard music, every note bringing with it a vivid shade on the color spectrum. There was a flutist in Hamburg, Germany, who experienced flavors as shapes and textures. Her favorite was white asparagus, which was a pleasing hexagonal form with smooth bumps all over its surface. There was a writer in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, who saw all her words in colors because each letter of the alphabet appeared to her in a different hue. According to the voiceover, the name of the writer's hometown, with its preponderance of vowels, which were jewel tones of reds and oranges and pinks, was her favorite word.”

MusicWordsRelatableColorsFlavorsSynesthesiaChromatolexic
Book:Bitter in the Mouth
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“You do not understand what you have done to me. The sky inside me gets a little more colorful, every time I see you. A little more feather gets added to my weak wings, every time you touch me. It is hard for me to let you go now after seeing how beautiful the sky inside me can get and how strong my wings can become when you are around me.”

LoveBeautifulRomanceSkyWingsFeathersTouchColors
Book:The Abandoned Paradise: Unraveling the beauty of untouched thoughts and dreams
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“London was beginning to illuminate herself against the night. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, but London was not afraid. Her smoke mitigated the splendour, and the clouds down Oxford Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did not distract. She has never known the clear-cut armies of the purer air. Leonard hurried through her tinted wonders, very much part of the picture. His was a grey life, and to brighten it he had ruled off a few corners for romance.”

BeautifulRomanceLondonDescriptionColorsNightfallHowards EndE M Forster
Book:Howards End
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“The president is not at all like the powerful icon I imagined her to be. She’s more like I remember Amma: small and delicate with a sari that dances behind her as she walks. Of course, the president is clad in white, the color that shows eternal mourning of a lost child, while Amma never wore white. She wore reds and oranges and deep greens. Colors of celebration, of happiness. Perhaps she wears white now. Now that I am dead to her.”

DeathMotherLongingMourningColors
Author:Holly Bodger
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“I catch sight of Luis with one of my bandannas on his head and my gut tightens. I yank it off him. "Don't ever touch this, Luis." "Why not?" he asks, his deep brown eyes all innocent. To Luis, it's a bandanna. To me, it's a symbol of what is and will never be. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to an eleven-year-old kid? He knows what I am. It's no secret the bandanna has the Latino Blood colors on it. Payback and revenge got me in and now there's no way out. But I'll die before I let one of my brothers get sucked in. I ball the bandanna in my fist. "Luis, don't touch my shit. Especially my Blood stuff." "I like red and black." That's the last thing I need to hear. "If I ever catch you wearin' it again, you'll be sportin' black and blue," I tell him. "Got it, little brother?" He shrugs. "Yeah. I got it.”

BloodBrotherRedInnocentGangColorsSymbolAlex FuentesLuis FuentesBandannaLatino Blood
Book:Perfect Chemistry
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“«I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time. “Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore. And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic. Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.»”

LifeDeathBlackMemoriesSadnessMiseryGoodbyeFuneralAgonyColorsDelaLisa SchroederI Heart You You Haunt Me
Book:I Heart You, You Haunt Me
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“I've been able to see colors around people and objects my whole life long. Through my eyes, colors drifted around people, like softly falling snow, offering glimpses of personalities. Floaters, I called them. It had taken me years to figure out the language of the colors, their meaning. Take Alice, for example. Orange floated around her, telling me of her playful, energetic personality. But after my car accident, other colors, secondary colors, had become sharper, clearer, louder. They were emotional colors and were nearly impossible to ignore. After Mabel had knocked me down, around Alice there had been sparks of dark plum. Remorse. "Were you able to see her personality?" Glory asked, her thin eyebrows raised high. Only close family knew how I could see color---it was too hard, too strange, to explain to others. However, my abilities weren't the least bit odd to Glory, who knew where to plant a flower seed simply by looking at it, or to my mother, who had never been lost a day in her life because she instinctively knew which direction to go. We came from a long line of people who had enhanced intuitions connected to nature.”

EmotionsMagical RealismColorsPersonality TraitsIntuitionsNature Consciousness
Book:In the Middle of Hickory Lane
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“Yes! The rosy fingers of dawn had finally slipped through the fog and gently pulled it apart, separating the tendrils, weakening it. Wendy watched in fascination. She almost never saw the sunrise except in winter and that was through her window, under the gray sprawl of London Town. Nothing like this. As the sea lightened and the sky began to clear, the two elements resolved themselves into colors unlike anything she was used to: brilliant emerald and deep aquamarine, pellucid azure and shining lapis. It was so storybook perfect she wouldn't have been surprised at all if the sun came out with a great smiley face drawn on it.”

SkyCloudsDawnColorsNever Land
Book:Straight On Till Morning
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“Why do you paint, Akram?” I asked. “What—” “Close your eyes, Sebastian,” he said, stopping me. “Just for a minute, close them and tell me what you see.” I did as he asked and answered, “Nothing, just black.” He tilted my head a bit to the west. “Open them now and find the blessing of vision. This abundance, the explosion, the mixture of colors, the movement, life passing by… See the sun setting? What colors can you find in the sea? Surely there are blue and gray, but don’t you also see that darker gray, light green, even black? Look at the hues of the sun drowning in the sea, melting in oranges, reds, purples. Look at those trees over there. Look at the waves, at me, at your hands, the eyes of your friends. Now, must you still ask me why I paint?” Akram replied. He then left me and walked to the tip of the yacht to enjoy the sunset and the breeze. “Artists,” I mumbled to myself.”

ArtArtistSkyPaintingParisColorsAvant GardeArtsPaintersAhmad Ardalan
Book:The Art Collector of Le Marais
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