Color Just A Touch Quotes & Sayings

While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the sun, we sat in the observation car, where the woodwork was hot to the touch and red dust lay deep over everything. The dust and heat, the burning wind, reminded us of many things. We were talking about what it is like to spend one's childhood in little towns like these, buried in wheat and corn, under stimulating extremes of climate: burning summers when the world lies green and billowy beneath a brilliant sky, when one is fairly stifled in vegetation, in the color and smell of strong weeds and heavy harvests; blustery winters with little snow, when the whole country is stripped bare and gray as sheet-iron. We agreed that no one who had not grown up in a little prairie town could know anything about it. It was a kind of freemasonry, we said. — Willa Cather

He it was that first gave to the law the air of a science. He found it a skeleton, and clothed it with life, color, and complexion: he embraced the old statue, and by his touch it grew into youth, health, and beauty. — Barry Yelverton, 1st Viscount Avonmore

Homes, Gamache knew, were a self portrait. A person's choice of color, furnishing, pictures, every touch revealed the individual. God, or the devil, was in the details. And so was the human. Was it dirty, messy, obsessively clean? Were the decorations chosen to impress, or were they a hodgepodge of personal history? Was the space cluttered or clear? He felt a thrill every time he entered a home during an investigation. — Louise Penny

I have been styling my own hair since I was four years old ... and I still don't let anyone else touch it to this day. I cut, color, style, and spray my own hair, on all sets and shoots, that's just the way it goes. I get way too nervous when someone else starts to mess with it. — Jenna Elfman

If you simply walk on the beach as we are doing, you have no special color. But if you travel with a purpose, it is different. When you go somewhere important or you return home from a long journey, you build a shape around you and it reaches out ahead to touch your destination. — Lyall Watson

Do you want to hold it?' she asked, dangling the padded envelope in front of Hale with two fingers.
'No.'
'Do you want to touch it and kiss it and wear it around your neck?'
'Don't be silly,' he told her. 'Everyone knows green isn't my color. — Ally Carter

It is only after years of struggle and deprivation that the young artist should touch color - and then only in the company of his betters. — El Greco

Everything I touch dies in my hand and the same thing's happening to you. You were vibrant when I met you, and now I've blanched the color from your cheeks and caused you nothing but pain. — H.M. Ward

It was then that we connected. His sound bounced through my head and out my eyes, painting my world with new shades of color. I still remember the smile that unnoticeably took my face as I inched for another touch. — Charles Lee

One of the goals of life is to try and be in touch with one's most personal themes-the values, the ideas, styles, colors that are the touchstones of one's own individual life, its real texture and substance. — Gloria Vanderbilt

As soon as I turned the key I saw it hanging, the color of fire and sunset. the colour of flamboyant flowers. 'If you are buried under a flamboyant tree, ' I said, 'your soul is lifted up when it flowers. Everyone wants that.'

She shook her head but she did not move or touch me. — Jean Rhys

I sat on a bench and my mother stood in front of me, looking down the track. Her hair was cut short, and because it had all turned gray when she was twenty-three, she always had it dyed a deep chestnut brown. It was that color all over except for a super thin stripe at the top of her head, where the gray showed through. Sometimes I wanted to touch that place on my mother's head, that thin crack where her real self had forced its way through. — Carol Rifka Brunt

Matthew's story of the resurrection emphasizes typically Matthean themes, and so on. But this is like what you get when different artists paint portraits of the same person. This painting is certainly a Rembrandt; that is indubitably a Holbein. The touch of the individual artist is unmistakable. And yet the sitter is fully recognizable. The artists have not changed the color of her hair, the shape of his nose, the particular half smile. And when we ask why such stories, so different in many ways and yet so interestingly consistent in these and other features, could have come into existence so early, all the early Christians give the obvious answer: something like this is what happened, even though it was hard to describe at the time and remains mind-boggling thereafter. — N. T. Wright

She spent an afternoon staring at their front door.
Waiting for someone? Yankel asked.
What color is this?
He stood very close to the door, letting the end of his nose touch the peephole. He licked the wood and joked, It certainly tastes like red.
Yes, it is red, isn't it?
Seems so.
She buried her head in her hands. But couldn't it be just a bit more red? — Jonathan Safran Foer

When it came to fabric, she was obsessed by the touch, color, and the promise that it held. Some — Nicole Mary Kelby

I'm the kind of person whose clothes are all hung up and color-coordinated, to the point where my whites don't touch my creams. — Gabrielle Union

To this day, I wake up at times, look in the mirror, and just stare, obsessed with the idea that the person I am in my head is something entirely different than what everyone else sees. That the way I look will prevent me from doing the things I want; that there really are sneetches with stars and I'm not one of them. I touch my face, I feel my skin, I check my color every day, and I swear it all feels right. But then someone says something and that sense of security and identity is gone before I know it. — Eddie Huang

Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch. — Sylvia Plath

I can see thru mountains watch me disappear, I can even touch the sky. Swallowing the colors of the sounds I hear, am I just a crazy guy? You bet. — Ozzy Osbourne

The reason the art world doesn't respond to Kinkade is because none - not one - of his ideas about subject-matter, surface, color, composition, touch, scale, form, or skill is remotely original. They're all cliche and already told. — Jerry Saltz

A taste of whiskey had changed her mood, as a touch of acid will change the color of blue litmus paper. — Ross Macdonald

I, who cannot see, find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine ... Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted ... It is a great pity that, in the world of light, the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding fullness to life. — Helen Keller

I have not forgotten you - the nights are long and difficult. You too know that all my eyes see, all touch with myself, from any distance, is you. The caress of fabrics, the color of colors, the wires, the nerves, the pencils, the leaves, the dust, the cells, the war and the sun, everything experienced in the minutes of the non-clocks and the non-calendars and the empty non-glances, is you. You felt it, that's why you let that ship take me away from Le Havre where you never said good-bye to me. I will write to you with my eyes, always. For you is all. — Frida Kahlo

Symbolic of life, hair bolts from our head[s]. Like the earth, it can be harvested, but it will rise again. We can change its color and texture when the mood strikes us, but in time it will return to its original form, just as Nature will in time turn our precisely laid-out cities into a weed-way. — Diane Ackerman

Isaac is touch, and he is sound. He is smell and he is sight. I tried to make him a single sense like I did with everyone else, but he is all of them. He overpowers my senses and that is exactly why I ran from him. I was afraid of feeling brightly - afraid I would become used to the color and sounds and smells, and they would be taken from me. I was a self-fulfilling prophecy; destroying before I could be destroyed. I wrote about women like that, I didn't realize I was one. — Tarryn Fisher

What's in the box?"
Sloane glanced to her hands. Box? Oh!
"Cupcakes. For you." A flush heated her skin, but she forced herself to ignore it. "Kind of a thank you for doing this today."
"You brought me cupcakes?"
It had been a dumb idea, bringing cupcakes to a gym. To a guy who looked like Sloane - he obviously didn't eat a lot of sweets.
"You can throw them away."
"Hey, Michaels, I'll take the cupcakes," one of the men shouted.
Sloane's eyes took on a tinge of smoldering sienna color. He snapped his head around toward the man. "Touch them and die, Carson. She brought them for me." He took the box from her and shoved them under his right arm. A grin broke out over his face. "Right, Kat? Just for me. — Jennifer Lyon

To meditate is not to empty the mind and gape at things in a trancelike stupor. Nothing significant will ever be revealed by just staring blankly at an object long and hard enough. To meditate is to probe with intense sensitivity each glimmer of color, each cadence of sound, each touch of another's hand, each fumbling word that tries to utter what cannnot be said. The — Stephen Batchelor

When memory fails to contain us we must love the past more than ever, to hold it to us - or else the present becomes a meaningless blaze of color and sound, in which no two humans, great elongate beings, will be able to do more than touch at their very lips, their spatial selves - no one will ever truly understand another. To love the past is to become fully human. — Kim Stanley Robinson

I've been filming time lapse flowers continuously, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for 35 years. To watch them move is a dance I will never get tired of. Their sensual beauty immerses us with color, smell, taste and touch. — Louis Schwartzberg

It's in our nature, Julian would say. We destroy. It's the constant of our kind. No matter the color of blood, man will always fall.
I didn't understand that lesson a few days ago, but now, with Cal's hands in mine, guiding me with the lightest touch, I'm beginning to see what he meant.
I can feel myself falling. — Victoria Aveyard

Kaylee, this means something to me." His hands trailed down my arms to cup my elbows, and his gaze held mine. "With any
luck, we're going to have millions of moments over the course of eternity, and I plan to love every one of them. But we'll never
have this moment again, and this is very important to me." The twists of blue in his eyes coiled so tightly the color was almost gone,
lost among pale shades of a need so deep it couldn't possibly be captured in a kiss, or a touch. "I need to know that this is important
to you, too. I need to know that this isn't like last time. That you're not doing this just so you can say you've done it. Because that's
not good enough for me. That's not good enough for us. — Rachel Vincent

If I can put one touch of rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman, I shall feel that I have worked with God. — G.K. Chesterton

The imagination is a palette of bright colors. You can use it to touch up memories - or you can use it to paint dreams. — Robert Breault

I fall down on my back and instantly feel the pain of my tail splitting in two. The two parts glow a bright green that fades to a dull white glow. I cannot believe my eyes. My black scales turn to skin the same color as my torso. I reach down and touch the space between them that never existed before. It is a moist opening, like a perpetual wound. I insert a finger. It doesn't hurt. It feels just like the inside of a clam. — Leza Cantoral

I could feel everything. From the tragic cellos, to the tender sounds of the piano giving awe to my touch. My body slowly swayed to the sweet feel of the air sweeping over me. I felt myself being taken away as the hearts of my fans soared with me. — Charles Lee

You also," he said, lowering his voice, "haven't yet
thanked me for saving you from sitting in the flower bed."
She didn't even look up. "It was entirely your fault that I nearly did. If you hadn't sneaked up on me, I wouldn't have been in any danger of landing in the weeds." She glanced briefly at him, a touch of color in her cheeks. "A gentleman would have coughed or something."
Vane trapped her gaze, and smiled - a slow, Cynster smile. "Ah," he murmured, his voice very low. He shifted fractionally closer. "But, you see, I'm not a gentleman. I'm a Cynster." As if letting her into some secret, he gently informed her: "We're conquerors - not gentlemen. — Stephanie Laurens

I'm not a girl to wear a lot of bright color, but including a touch of color can pull an outfit together. I'm from New York and wear a lot of black, and color is refreshing. — Jenna Ushkowitz

Mr. Kerrick wants your hair one color so you don't stand out so much.
Mr. Kerrick could kiss my ass. — Maria V. Snyder

Oh, the way he was looking at her, really looking at her . . . this was the Christopher of her dreams. This was the man who had written to her. He was so caring, and real, and dazzling, that she wanted to weep.

"I thought . . ." Christopher broke off and drew his thumb over the hot surface of her cheek.

"I know," she whispered, her nerves sparking in excitement at his touch.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I know."

His gaze went to her parted lips, lingering until she felt it like a caress. Her heart labored to supply blood to her nerveless limbs. Every breath caused her body to lift up against his, a teasing friction of firm flesh and clean, warm linen.

Beatrix was transfixed by the subtle changes in his face, the heightening color, the silver brightness of his eyes.

She wondered if he were going to kiss her.

And a single word flashed through her mind.

Please. . . — Lisa Kleypas

Myrnin, who hadn't said much, suddenly reached out and wrapped his arms around her.
She stiffened, shocked, and for a panicked second wondered whether he'd suddenly decided to snack on her neck ... but it was just a hug.
His body felt cold against hers, and way too close, but then he let go and stepped back. "You've done very well. I'm extremely proud of you," he said. There was a touch of color high in his pale cheeks. "Do go home now. And shower. You reek like the dead."
Which, coming from a vampire, was pretty rich. — Rachel Caine

The way it works for me is my sight and sound senses are combined. Every sound I associate with a color and every color I associate with a sound ... The way I see things is constant streamers across the room, bouncing off from every touch and every sound. Over the years, I've learned what color palates I love most. — Dev Hynes

But the full moon soothes all sick animal, be they human or plan field beast. there is a serenity of color, a quietude of touch, a sweet sculpturing of mind and body in full moonlight. — Ray Bradbury

Because there is something in the touch of flesh with flesh which abrogates, cuts sharp and straight across the devious intricate channels of decorous ordering, which enemies as well as lovers know because it makes them both:
touch and touch of that which is the citadel of the central I-Am's private own: not spirit, soul; the liquorish and ungirdled mind is anyone's to take in any any darkened hallway of this earthly tenement. But let flesh touch with flesh, and watch the fall of all the eggshell shibboleth of caste and color too. — William Faulkner

Why is your hair green?"
"It's a fashion statement."
"It's hideous. And even if it weren't ... tinted ... or whatever you did to it, it still wouldn't do. We haven't had a blond Pythia before; it's simply not what people expect to see. And, frankly, it doesn't suit you."
"It's my natural color!"
"Then it's naturally hideous. And this" - he tugged at my curls - "will have to go."
"If you touch me one more time - " I said softly.
"I'll make you an appointment with a hairdresser who understands that we need suave. We need sophisticated. We need - well, someone else, obviously, but - — Karen Chance

She danced with complete abandon. She never felt so light and free. She could stretch her arms forever, touch the heavens and pull down the stars. She would give him the stars to keep in his pocket, she thought. They would bring him good luck. She jumped and laughed and drew giggles from some of the other girls. She felt high, though she never before experienced a drug high. But then what was she thinking? He was her drug, and she felt high on the dark, rich honey. Honey that matched the color of his eyes. She could drink him to overflowing and never be satisfied. She was filled with the honey even now; it coursed through her limbs - a powerful, exotic, demanding potion that ordered her to dance. And so she did. She danced. — S. Walden

He just wanted to stand close to her, touch her hair that was white as glacier milk ... — Janet Fitch