Color Quotes - Page 23

• No eres un poco romántica, ¿verdad?", preguntó él, divertido. Ella se sentó y lo miró fijamente. Empezaba a pensar que Neal necesitaba un cuidador. Parecía tener las ideas más locas. "¿Romance? ¿No son esas cosas del amor?" Ella pregunto finalmente. "Es mas que solo amor. Es color, y-y fuego. No quieres cosas magníficas y llenas de grandeza", dijo él, tratando de hacerla entender. "Ya sabes, drama. Importancia. Pasión trascendente". "Yo sólo quiero ser un caballero", replicó Kel, poniendo su vajilla usada en su bandeja. "Come tus verduras. Son buenas para ti.

  Tamora Pierce

  Drama, Pasión, Pensamiento

  Tamora Pierce (2007). "Primera prueba: Libro 1 del Cuarteto del Protector de los Pequeños", p.59, Random House Books for Young Readers

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• You know what I do? I listen to other people, stumbling about with their half thoughts and half sentences and their clumsy feelings that they can't express, and it hurts me. So I go home and burnish it and polish it and weld it to a rhythmic frame, make the dull colors gleam, mute the garish artificiality to pastels, so it doesn't hurt any more: that's my poem. I know what they want to say, and I say it for them.

  Samuel R. Delany

  Hurt, Home, People

  Samuel R. Delany (1969). “Babel-17”, Macmillan Reference USA

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• Love demands patience, desire is restless; What color shall I paint the heart, until you savage it? You shall not ignore me when the time comes, I know, but I may turn to dust before the news reaches you.

  Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

  Heart, Dust, Desire

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• A la pregunta de qué somos sólo podemos responder nosotros mismos. Cada uno de nosotros decide lo que es por las decisiones que toma en la vida. Cómo fuimos creados, quiénes son nuestros padres, de dónde venimos, el color de nuestra piel, a quién elegimos amar, todas esas cosas no nos definen. Nuestras acciones nos definen, y seguirán definiéndonos incluso después de la muerte.

  P. C. Cast

  Choices, Parent, Skins

  P. C. Cast, Kristin Cast (2011). "Destined", p.273, Macmillan

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• Los pesados párpados se abrieron de golpe. Jack se quedó helado. Un enorme ojo dorado y ámbar, tan grande como un plato de comida, le miraba fijamente. La pupila oscura se contrajo, enfocándose. Jack se quedó muy quieto. La cabeza colosal se giró y el labio escamoso quedó a un metro de Jack. Los ojos dorados le miraron, arremolinados con un color ardiente. Jack respiró entrecortadamente. No parpadees. No parpadees... Dos ráfagas de viento brotaron de las fosas nasales del wyvern Jack saltó en línea recta, rebotó en el suelo en otro salto y se encaramó al árbol más cercano. En el claro, Gastón se agachó, carcajeándose como un idiota. '¡No tiene gracia!

  Ilona Andrews

  Eye, Dark, Wind

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• Don't do this to us." He warned, his voice hoarse with angry desperation as he realize he was losing her. "You're letting eleven years of mistrust color everything you've discovered I've done".

  Judith McNaught

  Years, Voice, Done

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• Si tu cumpleaños es el día de Navidad y no eres Jesús, deberías empezar a decirle a la gente que tu cumpleaños es el 9 de junio o algo así. Lee sobre los rasgos de un Géminis. De repente eres un multitarea al que le encanta el color amarillo. Porque no sólo te quedas con ellos combo regalo, se obtiene la canción combo. "Te deseamos una feliz Navidad - y feliz cumpleaños, Terry - te deseamos una feliz Navidad - feliz cumpleaños, Terry - te deseamos una feliz Navidad y un feliz New Year - ¡Cumpleaños, Terry!

  Ellen DeGeneres

  Canción, Jesús, Feliz Navidad

  Ellen DeGeneres (2011). "En serio... estoy bromeando", p.102, Hachette UK

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• ¿Qué fue, se preguntó por enésima vez, lo que permitió al pastor Harris escuchar las respuestas en su corazón? ¿A qué se refería cuando decía que sentía la presencia de Dios? Steve suponía que podía preguntarle directamente al pastor Harris, pero dudaba que eso sirviera de algo. ¿Cómo podría alguien explicar algo así? Sería como describir los colores a un ciego de nacimiento: Las palabras podrían entenderse, pero el concepto seguiría siendo misterioso y privado.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Heart, Mean, Would Be

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• Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren’t for me. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.

  Suzanne Collins

  Baby, Spring, Home

  Suzanne Collins (2010). “Catching Fire (The Second Book of the Hunger Games)”, p.312, Scholastic Inc.

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• You end up exhausted and spent, but later, in retrospect, you realize what it all was for. The parts fall into place, and you can see the whole picture and finally understand the role each individual part plays. The dawn comes, the sky grows light, and the colors and shapes of the roofs of houses, which you could only glimpse vaguely before, come into focus.

  Haruki Murakami

  Fall, Light, Sky

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• A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Sangre, Ley, Gente

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• El sol poniente quemaba el cielo de rosa y naranja en los mismos tonos brillantes que los trajes de baño de los surfistas. Era un bello engaño, pensó Bosch, mientras conducía hacia el norte por la autopista de Hollywood, hacia su casa. Las puestas de sol hacían eso aquí. Te hacían olvidar que era el smog lo que hacía sus colores tan brillantes, que detrás de cada imagen bonita podía haber una historia fea.

  Michael Connelly

  Beautiful, Sunset, Home

  Michael Connelly (2012). “The Black Echo”, p.60, Hachette UK

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• Under the color-blind ideology of the new racism, Blackness must be SEEN as evidence for the alleged color blindness that seemingly characterizes contemporary economic opportunity.

  Patricia Hill Collins

  Opportunity, Racism, Blind

  Patricia Hill Collins (2004). “Black Sexual Politics: African Americans, Gender, and the New Racism”, p.178, Routledge

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• Mattia was right: the days had slipped over her skin like a solvent, one after the other, each removing a very thin layer of pigment from her tattoo, and from both of their memories. The outlines, like the circumstances, were still there, black and well delineated, but the colors had merged together until they faded into a dull, uniform tonality, a neutral absence of meaning.

  Paolo Giordano

  Tattoo, Memories, Black

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• Trozos carbonizados de seda negra se arremolinan en el aire, y las perlas repiquetean en el escenario... Llevo un vestido con el diseño exacto de mi vestido de novia, sólo que es del color del carbón y está hecho de plumas diminutas. Asombrada, levanto las largas mangas al aire y es entonces cuando me veo en la pantalla del televisor. Vestido de negro, salvo por las manchas blancas de mis mangas. O debería decir mis alas. Porque Cinna me había convertido en un mockingjay.

  Suzanne Collins

  Air, Wings, White

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• The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.

  Peter S. Beagle

  Fall, Eye, Night

  Peter S. Beagle (1968). "El último unicornio", Roc

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• But hunger, like food, comes in many shapes and colors.

  Katherine Applegate

  Shapes, Hunger

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• Did he happen to select a color too?" "Blue." "Blue?" Victoria burst out, prepared to do physical battle for white. Madame nodded, her finger thoughtfully pressed to her lips, her own hand plunked upon her waist. "Yes, blue. Ice blue. He said you are glorious in that color-'a titian-haired angel,' he said" Victoria abruptly decided ice blue was a lovely color to be married in.

  Judith McNaught

  Angel, Blue, Hands

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• Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had a biting coolness--but by the last week of school everything is Technicolor and splash, outrageous blue skies and purple thunderstorms and ink-black night skies and red flowers as brights as spots of blood.

  Lauren Oliver

  Verano, Mañana, Flor

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• When I’m running, there’s always this split second when the pain is ripping through me and I can hardly breathe and all I see is color and blur—and in that split second, right as the pain crests, and becomes too much, and there’s a whiteness going through me, I see something to my left, a flicker of color […]—and I know then, too, that if I only turn my head he’ll be there, laughing, watching me, and holding out his arms. I don’t ever turn my head to look, of course. But one day I will. One day I will, and he’ll be back, and everything will be okay. And until then: I run.

  Lauren Oliver

  Running, Pain, Laughing

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• What colors are the eyes of Anubis?" "Brown...Duh.

  Rick Riordan

  Eye, Anubis, Duh

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• It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.

  Lauren Oliver

  Correr, Luchar, Significar

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• Negro para cazar a través de la noche Para la muerte y el dolor, el color es blanco Oro para una novia en su vestido de novia, Y rojo para llamar al encanto.

  Cassandra Clare

  Noche, Caza, Blanco

  Cassandra Clare (2015). “City of Lost Souls”, p.432, Simon and Schuster

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• Jem leaned closer against the chair, staring into the fire. “Better it were my hands,” he said. Will shook his head. Exhaustion was muting the edges of everything in the room, blurring the flocked wallpaper into a single mass of dark color. “No. Not your hands. You need your hands for the violin. What do I need mine for?

  Cassandra Clare

  Dark, Fire, Hands

  Cassandra Clare (2014). “Clockwork Princess”, p.170, Simon and Schuster

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• Todo en él era viejo excepto sus ojos, que tenían el mismo color que el mar y eran alegres e invictos.

  Ernest Hemingway

  Eye, Sea, Cheerful

  Ernest Hemingway (1995). "El viejo y el mar", p.5, Hueber Verlag

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