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da1a8e5
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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
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music
inspirational
idic
innovation
diversity
colors
problem-solving
invention
creativity
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Sun Tzu |
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01129f6
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the late afternoon sunlight, warm as oil, sweet as childhood ...
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colours
colors
sunlight
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Stephen King |
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57d161a
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When I tell her what I'm thinking and she tells me what she's thinking, our each ideas jumping into the other's head, like coulouring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.
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colors
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Emma Donoghue |
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3f9c401
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"Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched--by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever." (p.33)"
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madness
prayer
depression
god
asymmetry
atlantic
blind-man
blossom
left-eye
living-things
nineteen-years-old
power-of-sight
clock
tree
sacraments
bones
starlight
apple
wind
autumn
colors
smile
questions
mirror
horror
journey
eyes
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Tim Willocks |
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60a2f67
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Maybe one day the smears of paint Harley left throughout Godspeed will fade, and maybe the stars never will, but i'd rather have Harley's colors.
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stars
fade
colors
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Beth Revis |
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37cea97
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His beard was all colors, a grove of trees in autumn, deep brown and fire-orange and wine-red, an untrimmed tangle across the lower half of his face. His cheeks were apple-red. He looked like a friend; like someone you had known all your life.
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beards
familiarity
colors
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Neil Gaiman |
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ae24364
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She had expressed herself, as women will, in a smug broadside of pastel shades. Nothing clashed because nothing had the strength to clash; everything murmured of safety among the hues; all was refinement.
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women
pastels
colors
safety
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Mervyn Peake |
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4a876ac
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They're auras, Davey. I see them, too. The longer you stare at them, the wider the energy field expands until more colors begin to show themselves.
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poetry
energy-field
literature-in-translation
chakras
christina-westover
energy-manipulation
telepathy
san-francisco
colors
beatnik
jack-kerouac
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Christina Westover |
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c6fbe44
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In her eyes was the reflection of everything that mattered: old diners with neon signs, vinyl records, celluloid film, drive-in movies, Pears soap, department stores, her brother's old blue Camaro car and the smell of coal dust in the rainy sky of a summer lightning storm. ...And all the nice bright colors of the past that she thought were gone for good came flowing back into her life like a wave of nostalgia flooding over her, reds, yellows, blues and greens drenching her gray memories in psychedelic ribbons and glittering fireworks. ...She hoped that the world would always hold those miniscule yet beautiful, deep and mysterious traces of memory.
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earth
world
rurl
found-footage
kodak
bright
colors
mystery
beautiful
memory
nostalgia
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Rebecca McNutt |
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57ee32e
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The mountain trees that grew between the pines were a brilliant blaze of fall colors, like fire against the emerald green of the pines, firs and pruces. And it was, as I'd told myself long ago, the year's last passionate love affair before it grew old and died from the frosty bite of winter.
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seasons
winter
change
love
passionate
trees
fall
colors
fire
running
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V.C. Andrews |
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e18bb92
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Somewhere on the world was the Emperor's palace, set amid one hundred square miles of natural soil, rainbowed with flowers.
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garden
colors
flowers
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Isaac Asimov |
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cf1c1c8
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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."
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latino-blood
bandanna
luis-fuentes
innocent
gang
brother
symbol
red
colors
blood
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Simone Elkeles |
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4909819
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The peach gown she'd chosen was the color of the sunrise, the rippling watered silk seeming to subtly change from rose to pink to nearly orange in different lights. She'd fallen in love with it at once.
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iris-de-chartres
peach-color
gown
colors
sunrise
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Elizabeth Hoyt |
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5513350
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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.
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romance
nightfall
e-m-forster
howards-end
colors
description
london
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E.M. Forster |
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c08f47b
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"<>"
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memories
death
sadness
life
dela
i-heart-you-you-haunt-me
lisa-schroeder
funeral
goodbye
black
colors
misery
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Lisa Schroeder |
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56f916d
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George thrust into Alma's hand a lithograph of a spotted 'Catasetum.' The orchid had been rendered so magnificently that it seemed to grow off the page. Its lips were spotted red against yellow, and appeared moist, like living flesh. Its leaves were lush and thick, and its bulbous roots looked as though one could shake actual soil off them. Before Alma could thoroughly take in the beauty, George handed her another stunning print- a 'Peristeria barkeri,' with its tumbling golden blossoms so fresh they nearly trembled. Whoever had tinted this lithograph had been a master of texture as well as color; the petals resembled unshorn velvet, and touches of albumen on their tips gave each blossom a hint of dew. Then George handed her another print, and Alma could not help but gasp. Whatever this orchid was, Alma had never seen it before. Its tiny pink lobes looked like something a fairy would don for a fancy dress ball.
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blossoms
lithographs
orchids
textures
genus-species
illustrations
colors
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Elizabeth Gilbert |
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5aea09b
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"Jess gazed at the apples arranged in all their colors: russet, blushing pink, freckled gold. She cast her eyes over heaps of pumpkins, bins of tomatoes cut from the vine, pale gooseberries with crumpled leaves. "You could buy a farm." "Why would I do that?" "To be healthy," said Jess. Emily shook her head. "I don't think I'd be a very good farmer." "You could have other people farm your farm for you," said Jess. "And you could just eat all the good things." Emily laughed. "That's what we're doing here at the Farmers' Market. We're paying farmers to farm for us. You've just invented agriculture." "Yes, but you could have your own farm and go out there and breathe the fresh air and touch the fresh earth." "I think that's called a vacation," said Emily. "Oh, you're too boring to be rich," Jess said. "And I would be so talented!" --
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farmers-market
emily-and-jess
produce
haha
colors
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Allegra Goodman |
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3679914
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Quinnipeague in August was a lush green place where inchworms dangled from trees whose leaves were so full that the eaten parts were barely missed. Mornings meant 'thick o' fog' that caught on rooftops and dripped, blurring weathered gray shingles while barely muting the deep pink of rosa rugosa or the hydrangea's blue. Wood smoke filled the air on rainy days, pine sap on sunny ones, and wafting through it all was the briny smell of the sea.
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colors
earthy
morning-light
scents
maine
quinnipeague
weather
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Barbara Delinsky |
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b05faa6
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At first she felt overwhelmed by the house, its airy symmetry its silence. Now she was accustomed to the place, but she caught herself wondering, Is this still Berkeley? George's neighborhood felt as far from Telegraph as the hanging gardens of Babylon. You could get a good kebab in Jess's neighborhood, and a Cal T-shirt, and a reproduction NO HIPPIES ALLOWED sign. Where George lived, you could not get anything unless you drove down from the hills. Then you could buy art glass, and temple bells, and burled-wood jewelry boxes, and dresses of hand-painted silk, and you could eat at Chez Panisse, or sip coffee at the authentically grubby French Hotel where your barista took a bent paper clip and drew cats or four-leaf clovers or nudes in your espresso foam. You returned home with organic, free-range groceries, and bouquets of ivory roses and pale green hydrangeas, and you held dinner parties where some guests got lost and arrived late, and others gave up searching for you in the fog. That was George's Berkeley, and even in these environs, his home stood apart, hidden, grand, and rambling; windows set like jewels in their carved frames, gables twined with wisteria of periwinkle and ghostly white.
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jess-and-george
neighborhoods
colors
flowers
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Allegra Goodman |