Color Like Claret Quotes & Sayings

The love between humans is the thing that nails us to this earth. — Ann Patchett

I'd had more than my fair share of near-death experiences; it wasn't something
you ever really got used to.
It seemed oddly inevitable, though, facing death again. Like I really was marked
for disaster. I'd escaped time and time again, but it kept coming back for me.
Still, this time was so different from the others.
You could run from someone you feared, you could try to fight someone you
hated. All my reactions were geared toward those kinds of killers - the monsters,
the enemies.
When you loved the one who was killing you, it left you no options. How could
you run, how could you fight, when doing so would hurt that beloved one? If your
life was all you had to give your beloved, how could you not give it?
If it was someone you truly loved? — Stephenie Meyer

Two hundred dollars! OMG! Shopping spree! — Angela Cervantes

The seeds of a redwood are released from cones that are about the size of olives. The heartwood of the tree is a dark, shimmery red in color, like old claret. The wood has a lemony scent and is extremely resistant to rot. — Richard Preston

[Hugh Jackman is] an Adamantium-laced Fred Astaire. — Jon Stewart

Hope is an anchor for the soul. — Lailah Gifty Akita

The word 'Dorf' lies, although the Dablem Dorf station is covered with straw. Arabian students hang out in front of the entrance to the underground, and only the German kiosk of the kabob seller clues us in that the bus did not arrive through a secret passage and set us down in Morocco. The University buildings are hidden among trees, intertwining paths and signposts, which exclude each other. The arrow points to another arrow 3 m away, which is pointing back, perpendicular to the first. With signs making sure no one can get lost during his search, he searches and searches and it seems entirely irrelevant that he can never find the place he is searching for by tracing the signs. A Mobius strip, the circular blindness of the streets, and exhausted Minotaur are harbingers of the paths of this place, which only multiply behind the revolving door of the Ethnological Museum. — Ales Steger