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Colors Quotes

Browse 231 quotes about Colors.

Colors Quotes

“It's a bird of some sort. It's like a duck, only I never saw a duck have so many colors." The bird swam swiftly and gracefully toward the Magic Isle, and as it drew nearer its gorgeously colored plumage astonished them. The feathers were of many hues of glistening greens and blues and purples, and it had a yellow head with a red plume, and pink, white and violet in its tail.”

WhiteAnimalMagicBirdRedBlueGreenFeathersVioletDuckMagicalColorsPinkOzPlumePurple Yellow
Book:The Magic of Oz
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“What treasures lay inside! Yes, here were the colors that she had asked for: red, pink, yellow, blue, green, black- all in powder form, of course, not like the one or two bottles of liquid food color that were available at the Lebanese supermarket in town; those were not at all modern- some big blocks of marzipan, and, as always, June had included some new things for Angel to try. This time there were three tubes that looked rather like thick pens. She picked one upend examined it: written along its length were the words 'Gateau Graffito,' and underneath, written in uppercase letters, was the word 'red.' Reaching for the other two pens- one marked 'green' and the other 'black'- she saw a small printed sheet lying at the bottom of the bubblewrap nest. It explained that these pens were filled with food color, and offered a picture showing how they could be used to write fine lines or thick lines, depending on how you held them. It also guaranteed that the contents were kosher. Eh, now her cakes were going to be more beautiful than ever!”

CakeColorsGraffitiAngel TungarazaFood Colours
Book:Baking Cakes in Kigali
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“Isaac took a long swig from the unmarked bottle. He'd tasted her cider before, but this bottle was completely different, yet just as wonderful. The apple was more prominent, yet not sweet, almost funky but in a good, blue-cheese way. He held the bottle up to the light and could see the sediment swirling in the bottom. "This is amazing- so different from the other one." Sanna grinned. "You really like Olive? I wasn't sure when I blended it. Not everyone likes the murkiness." "Olive?" Sanna leaned against the counter, putting her weight on her wrist as she studied him for a long moment, her eyes squinting. She took a long drink from her own bottle. "I see colors when I make ciders. I can't explain it. Each juice has its own hue. That's what those paintings represent." She pointed at the watercolors over the fireplace. "A new color comes to me, and I blend the juices until I can re-create it in the flavor. And this one is Olive." "You color-code your ciders?" He struggled to understand what she was telling him. "No." She reached across the counter and pulled her journal toward her. She opened it and handed it to Isaac. As she sipped her cider, he studied the page, then the next page, then the next. On each was a swatch of layered color, all wildly different from one another- reds, greens, teals, colors he didn't really have names for. Next to the colors were measurements, apple varieties, percentages, and flavor notes. Scribbles filled the margins and equations contained both numbers and words. Things like sugars and acidity were measured and tested. It was part recipe book, part coloring book, and part wine label, with a hint of spell book. Looking at it was like opening a tiny door into the back of her head. She saw things that no one else did, an imaginary world of cider only she could see. "You can see the color in your head?" "It's the easiest way to explain it. A color pops into my head, and I know what it will taste like. When I blend the different raw ciders together, I know I have it right when it matches what I've imagined.”

GiftedJournalMagical RealismColorsFlavorsCiderApple CiderOlive
Book:The Simplicity of Cider
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“Yesterday, she had pulled out of the freezer a few special juices from the Looms that she had frozen last fall and set them in the cooler to thaw. When she had pressed them last October, they hadn't produced as much juice as the apples from younger trees, but even the raw juices by themselves were interesting and complex, layers of apple and honey and something earthier. At the time, she'd decided to save them for inspiration to strike. As she had lain in bed, though, waiting for the first rays of light, a color blossomed. A rosy pink, with a hint of coral, bold and opaque. It didn't have any sharp edges. She knew instantly it required juice from one of the Looms. She measured and blended, noting each of the juices she used and in what combination. Two parts Rambo, one part Winesap, a half part Britegold. She sipped it, but the color was too red, almost searing. She needed something to mute it. She walked into the large freezer where she had stored some of the frozen juices and even a few bushels of frozen apples she was experimenting with. She ran her fingers over the giant apple ice cubes in flattened Ziploc bags, closing her eyes and letting the colors emerge- green, periwinkle, sunshine yellow, and a sunset orange.”

ApplesColorsCiderApple Juice
Book:The Simplicity of Cider
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“Lydia can't see it from the dark place where she is, but she can sense it. She knows that it's the perfect time of day out there in the desert. She imagines the colors making a show of themselves outside. The glittering gray pavement, the aching red land. The colors streaking flamboyantly across the sky. When she closes her eyes, she can see them, the paint in the firmament. Dazzling. Purple, yellow, orange, pink, and blue. She can see those perfect colors, hot and bright, a feathered headdress. Beneath, the landscape stretches out its arms.”

NatureBeautyDesertLandscapeSunsetArizonaColorsSonoran Desert
Book:American Dirt
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“Cutting and polishing an opal is a great skill. The outer casing has to be removed with a diamond saw and then it is shaped. The Romans mastered the art thousands of years ago." Della ran her finger over the stone. "Where did the name opal come from?" "From the Sanskrit meaning 'precious stone,' and later the Greek derivative opallios, meaning 'a change of color'.”

ColorsPreciousOpalName Meaning
Book:The Woman in the Green Dress
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“Antiseptic Awakening by Stewart Stafford See the rainbow spattered With dark blood moon juice. This creeping haemorrhage, A lacerated spectrum merged. Bruised trickles not halting, Violations in crimson stealth. Impotent, alleged lifeforms, Ashen foot-dragging below. Casually surrendered hues, The arterial strain's zenith. No colour in cheek nor sky, Bleached by antiseptic snow. © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

ExistentialismSurrealismColorsDark AcademiaContemporary PoetryContemporary LiteraturePhilosophical PoetryGothic PoetryUrban DecayStewart Stafford
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Nijinsky in 'Le Spectre de la rose' was like nothing I'd seen before. He danced a fifteen-minute solo and it passed like a dream. He was wearing a silk tricot, palest nude, onto which were pinned dozens of silk Bakst petals, pink and red and purple. The most exotic creature, so beautiful, like a shiny, graceful insect on the verge of flight. He leapt as if it cost him no effort, lingering in the air far longer than was possible, and seemed not to touch the stage between times. I believed that night that a man might fly, that anything was possible.”

BalletColorsNijinskyEleanor Edevane
Book:The Lake House
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“She wasn't particularly artistic, but without thought she knew the combination that would get her the color she wanted. Last night she'd arrived at a rich royal made up of layered cobalt blue and indigo, and she knew exactly what it would taste like. Dry, but not bitter, with a bold apple finish. Not shy of what it was, but proud and majestic. Tonight the greens she sketched spoke to her of gentle whispers and a soft sweetness, with just a lilt of apple, but very refreshing.”

ColorsFlavorsApple Cider
Book:The Simplicity of Cider
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“She spread her arms wide, past the width of the blanket, and buried her hands in the long grass, stretching her fingertips to the cool dirt. Lying like this, she fancied she could hear the orchard talking to her, telling her about the apples, and what trees should be grafted next. She drifted and envisioned the orchard from above. She could see the scraggly trees where she lay now, and the tiny twigs of the newly grafted Honeycrisp trees on the other side of the orchard, and the precise rows of the eating-apple trees- well groomed and trimmed for easy picking in the fall. With her eyes closed, a new color spread across the back of her eyelids- a creamy white with a gentle red undertone. Her tongue started to wrap itself around the flavors as she smiled to herself. It would be dry, almost champagne-like, but with a late, sweet lilt of red apple, like a kiss on the nose. It would pair exceptionally with Parmesan, pasta, and a simple salad and it would be the perfect wedding cider, if she knew anyone getting married.”

ApplesWeddingColorsApple TreesApple CiderApple Orchard
Book:The Simplicity of Cider
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“The tulips are usually in flower in March, a carnival of orange, saffron, rust and purple-black. Once they have gone over, as we gardeners say, their petals brown and frail like antique satin, the bulbs will be lifted and replaced with fully grown foxgloves, whose faded notes of lilac, pink and speckled cream will stand tall till it is time for the dahlias to go in.”

ColorsTulipsFoxgloveReplanting
Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“Is that an orchid?" I asked, pointing to a particularly unattractive small brown plant. "Maxillaria tenuifolia," said Sonali. "One of my favorites. This little brown orchid is a species. Not as spectacular as a hybrid, but very satisfying nonetheless. Its charms are quite powerful. Come closer and smell it." I leaned over the ugly brown plant. "Coconut pie! How is that possible?" "Wonderful, isn't it? She doesn't need bright, flashy colors or spectacular sprays of flowers. Her pollinators, the moths, come out at night. She uses her coconut scent to guide and entice the little moth in much the way we use perfume to entice men in nightclubs and cafés." Sonali winked at me. "You can learn much about how an orchid is pollinated by the way it looks. White, pink, and pale-green flowers usually get pollinated at night, since those colors are easily seen under moonlight. The little moth sneaks up on the flower in the middle of the night like a lover. He lands on her, pollinates her, and then leaves. We've all had that experience, yes?" "Yes," I said, thinking of Exley. "Brightly colored orchids, on the other hand, are pollinated by butterflies and birds. Butterflies prefer red and orange. Bees love orange and yellow all the way through to ultraviolet." "Just like certain men like certain color clothing," I said. "Yes, colored petals are the clothing of flowers. The insect must find a way through those petals to get what he wants, like a man brushing his hand through the layers of a woman's skirt.”

ColorsPetalsSexual AttractionOrchidsPollinators
Book:Hothouse Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire
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“When children in detention at the San Bernardino County Probation Department in California become violent, they are moved to a cell with the walls painted in bubble gum pink. Paul E. Boccumini, director of clinical services for the department, said, “The children tend to relax, stop yelling and banging and often fall asleep within ten minutes.” The use of brute force was previously used to calm psychotic and manic juveniles. “We used to have to literally sit on them,” said Boccumini. “Now we put them in the pink room. It works.”

ArtViolenceHealCaliforniaRelaxColorsTattoosPinkDetention Center
Book:The Power of Tattoos: Twelve Hidden Energy Secrets of Body Art Every Tattoo Enthusiast Should Know
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“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard. There are not more than five primary colours, yet in combination they produce more hues than can ever been seen. There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted.”

InspirationalMusicCreativityDiversityInnovationInventionProblem SolvingColorsIdic
Book:The Art of War
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“Life is like a painting. Imagine it, hit and try drawing with the pencil of first steps, fill in the colors of happiness, correct the mistakes with eraser of love and forgiveness; thus, one dream project is accomplished. Create such masterpieces just like that.”

LifeDreamMotivational QuotesImaginePaintingDrawingMistakesCorporateVikrmnMasterpieceCa Vikram VermaColorsVikram VermaChartered AccountantVikramCorpkshetraVvckPencil
Book:You By You
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“If we dare to dream, we must dare to wake up. When we come to rub our eyes wide open and face up to realness, we can clear our vision and curb a whirlwind of bewilderment that might break our mind apart, once fantasy wrangles with reality and our awareness denies the true colors of facts. ("Behind the frosted glass”)”

MindFactsDreamRealityVisionFantasyClearAwarenessWake UpDareDenyTrueColorsCurbWhirlwindBewildermentRealnessEyes Wide OpenWrangleFace UpRubFrosted GlassBreak Apart
Author:Erik Pevernagie
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“As Meredith walked home through the trees, she noticed how her filter on the world had changed. There were slightly different colors, different smells, an altered feeling. The darkness radiated gem-like hues, and she could smell each part of the forest down to the sweet, earthy beetle shells and musky tree nuts. She felt grounded with a good dirt--- the best, most-fertile soil. Solid, clear, awake. Rooted to the earth. The opposite of her old, hazy self.”

DarknessSensesWitchMagical RealismColorsPuberty
Book:Strange Folk
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“You're a Dark One," said Anton. "All you see in everything is evil, treachery, trickery." "All I do is not close my eyes to them," Edgar retorted. "And that's why I don't trust Zabulon. I distrust him almost as much as I do Gesar. I can even trust you more—you're just another unfortunate chess piece who happens by chance to be painted a different color from me. Does a white pawn hate a black one? No. Especially if the two pawns have their heads down together over a quiet beer or two." "You know," Anton said in a slightly surprised voice, "I just don't understand how you can carry on living if you see the world like that. I'd just go and hang myself." "So you don't have any counterarguments to offer?" Anton took a gulp of beer too. The wonderful thing about this natural Czech beer was that even if you drank lots of it, it still didn't make your head or your body feel heavy... Or was that an illusion? "Not a single one," Anton admitted. "Right now, this very moment, not a single one. But I'm sure you're wrong. It's just difficult to argue about the colors of the rainbow with a blind man. There's something missing in you... I don't know what exactly. But it's something very important, and without it you're more helpless than a blind man.”

LightPurposeEvilDarkVisionTrustGoodBeerEyesColorsCamaraderie
Book:Day watch
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“This photo is classic aestheticism. The engaging expression, the loose dress and fluid posture. Early to mid-1860's, if I had to guess." "It reminded me of the Pre-Raphaelites." "Related, definitely; and of course the artists of the time were all inspired by one another. They obsessed over things like nature and truth; color, composition, and the meaning of beauty. But where the Pre-Raphaelites strove for realism and detail, the painters and photographers of the Magenta Brotherhood were devoted to sensuality and motion." "There's something moving about the quality of light, don't you think?" "The photographer would be thrilled to hear you say so. Light was of principal concern to them: they took their name from Goethe's color wheel theories, the interplay of light and dark, the idea that there was a hidden color in the spectrum, between red and violet, that closed the circle. You have to remember, it was right in the middle of a period when science and art were exploding in all directions. Photographers were able to use technology in ways they hadn't before, to manipulate light and experiment with exposure times to create completely new effects.”

LightPhotographyColorsAestheticismMagentaSixtiesPre Raphaelite
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“Gray. The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. Gray...”

LoveEyeRomanceDeathWaterDarkDarknessAirMysteryCryMovementTearsColorRomanticRainStonesUltimateBlueCloudsYoung AdultMysteriousSuspenseColourIronGrayApathyEyesDeadSteelCryingGreyWeepingGothicGrimRainyColorsMoveGothCloudyRockApatheticHazeCloseObserveStoneCloudSlowColoursTearWeepHazyMetalRainingEverywhereCloserOvercastDropSlowlyItselfInconsolablePhlegmaticColourlessDisconsolateUbiquitousDownpourBlue LessDeaden
Book:Nightmarish Sacrifice
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