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Glitter Quotes

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Glitter Quotes

“Consider the fact that maybe…just maybe…beauty and worth aren’t found in a makeup bottle, or a salon-fresh hairstyle, or a fabulous outfit. Maybe our sparkle comes from somewhere deeper inside, somewhere so pure and authentic and REAL, it doesn’t need gloss or polish or glitter to shine.”

“We lived hand in hand with the sand, the wind and the sun. When the wind blew strong, the sand from the sea whirled up and violently battered the Mud Whale. The grains would get inside the keep and stick to people's skin. When the sun shone, the mud walls, the drifts of sand, and the grains on people's skin all sparkled.”

“In the grand scope of things, glitter may not seem like much. But in a way, it’s everything: an offering, evidence of all our striving to shine, shrapnel of the sun itself. What we create from these scraps is how we heal the world, how we so love the world and restore its wholeness. Hand-in-hand in this snaking parade, a human community of broken shards upon a sphere, spinning.”

“Дж. Ф.: Подобные вещи меня очень интересуют – всегда интересовали. Через такие вот странные моменты мы ловим проблески чего-то, выходящего за пределы наших привычных представлений о мире; проблески восприятия, альтернативного нашему; по-моему, это очень ценная возможность, и за неё стоит держаться. Осознание того, что, возможно, в нашем восприятии есть пробелы, которые мы пока ещё не способны заполнить.”

“Opening a small metal box, she added a pinch of blue salts to the syrup mixture and blew on the cauldron. A burst of smoke puffed up, sending a dusting of glitter particles spinning in the lights. He turned his head to follow the twinkling trail, and she slanted a sideways smile. "Magic." "Predictable chemical reaction," he returned, examining the box of salts. "And once again in your company, I have glitter in my hair." "And your stubble. Bit of technicolor glam to liven up the grays. You're welcome.”

“Serena and Jimena walked into the crowd, strides long and seductive. Jimena wore a silver bustier and capris with matching sandals. Her hair was rolled on top of her head with glitter and jewels. Curls bounced with each step. Her face gleamed; her full lips sparkled. The tattoos on her arms seemed iridescent. She whooped and squealed and gave Serena a high five. Serena had moussed her hair so it stood on end. Streaks of orange glitter shot from her temples into her hair. She wore a yellow tulle skirt over a sheer, clingy red dress and looked like a walking flame.”

“She dug through the clothes packed in the trunk until she found the blue halter top and black jeans she had been wearing the night Veto died. She wasn't sure why she had saved them, but she was glad she had, now. She was going to wear them tonight in honor of Veto. She carried them back to her room, stood in front of the mirror over her dresser, and slipped on the gold earrings that had been a gift from Veto. Then she started to dress. She rubbed glitter lotion over her arms and painted black lines on her eyelids. She rolled on her mascara, then stood back.”

“The complexity of your earthly array is not a guarantee for a truimphant eternity. The fact is that you need a simple life to go to heaven; not an excessively glittering body, shiny lips and charming face.”

“They say your heart breaks to let the light in, but at some point some of our hearts break so hard and so often that they’re just filled with light, which has no choice but to shine back out. Maybe saints realize that before the rest of us do, which is why they’re always pointing to their hearts. They ask us not to harden against, but open to. They speak in tongues of trinkets, flowers and beads and glitter, small innocent things that insist throughout even the darkest times—bits of bright that are the philosophers’ stone. Strung up and clung to, shapeshifting the world itself.”

“He lived then before me, he lived as much as he had ever lived---a shadow insatiable of splendid appearances, of frightful realities, a shadow darker than the shadow of the night, and draped nobly in the folds of a gorgeous eloquence. The vision seemed to enter the house with me---the stretcher, the phantom-bearers, the wild crowd of obedient worshipers, the gloom of the forests, the glitter of the reach between the murky bends, the beat of the drum regular and muffled like the beating of a heart, the heart of a conquering darkness.”

“I think of myself as Rebecca Wells from Lodi Plantation, in Central Louisiana, a girl who was lucky enough to be born into a family that encouraged creativity and didn't call me lazy or nuts when I dressed up in my mother's peignoirs and played the piano, having painted a small sign decorated in glitter that read 'The Piano Fairy Girl.”

“Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. I know of no sculpture, painting or music that exceeds the compelling spiritual command of the soaring shape of granite cliff and dome, of patina of light on rock and forest, and of the thunder and whispering of the falling, flowing waters. At first the colossal aspect may dominate; then we perceive and respond to the delicate and persuasive complex of nature.”

“Conversation should be like juggling; up go the balls and the plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them. But when dear Sebastian speaks it is like a little sphere of soapsud drifting off the end of an old clay pipe, anywhere, full of rainbow light for a second and then - phut! vanished, with nothing left at all, nothing.”

“Men of warm imaginations and towering thoughts are apt to overlook the goods of fortune which are near them, for something that glitters in the sight at a distance; to neglect solid and substantial happiness for what is showy and superficial; and to contemn that good which lies within their reach, for that which they are not capable of attaining. Hope calculates its schemes for a long and durable life; presses forward to imaginary points of bliss; grasps at impossibilities; and consequently very often ensnares men into beggary, ruin, and dishonour.”

“The old man has been long at the fair. He is acquainted with the jugglers at the booths. His curiosity has been satisfied. He no longer cares for the exceptional, the monstrous, the marvelous and deformed. He looks through and beyond the gilding, the glitter and gloss, not only of things, but of conduct, of manners, theories, religions and philosophies. He sees clearer. The light no longer shines in his eyes.”

“More and more people each year are going abroad for Christmas ... Fed up with the fact that commercial Christmas starts in October. Fed up with carols. Dreading the arrival of Christmas cards from people they have forgotten to send a card to. Unable to bear yet another family get-together with Auntie Mary puking up in the corner after sampling too much of the punch. You see in the airports the triumphant glitter in the eyes of people who are leaving it all behind, including the hundredth rerun of Miracle on 34th Street.”

“He who recognizes no higher logic than that of the shilling may become a very rich man, and yet remain all the while an exceedingly poor creature; for riches are no proof whatever of moral worth, and their glitter often serves only to draw attention to the worthlessness of their possessor, as the glow-worm's light reveals the grub.”