Paper Lantern Quotes & Sayings

The atmosphere of the place soothed her automatically; the rich lantern lights, the sheer scent of paper and leather, and the fact that everywhere she looked, there were books, books, beautiful books. — Genevieve Cogman

His round cheeks are of a red that seems to glow from within, as if he had a lit candle in his mouth like a paper lantern at a summer fete. — Joseph Roth

away, she and Bernadette had become penpals. They wrote real letters with ink on paper and mailed them with pretty stamps - because everyone knows it is way more fun to open up an envelope with your name on it than to get an e-mail on the computer. Their letters to each other sometimes included surprises like lip balm or temporary tattoos or hair clips. For Hallowe'en, Jasmine had sent Bernadette a giant lollipop with a jack-o'-lantern face. And Bernadette once sent Jasmine a pair of socks with frog cartoons on them, because frogs were Jasmine's favorite — Susan Glickman

If I were a pattern, I would be the pattern of paint that a bird would make if you dipped a bird's wings in watercolour and then set the bird loose inside a paper lantern. I'm pretty sure that's it! — C. JoyBell C.

She went to the window and looked out. The ground fell away to a branch where willows burned lime green in the sunset. Dark little birds kept crossing the fields to the west like heralds of some coming dread. Below the branch stood the frame of an outhouse from which the planks had been stripped for firewood and there hung from the ceiling a hornetnest like a gross paper egg. The tinker returned from the cart with a lantern — Cormac McCarthy

From the shapes cast by the green paper lantern, you would never know that there were two boys sitting closely to one another trying to find themselves. You would only see shadows hugging, indiscriminate. — Adam Silvera

No my friend, darkness is not everywhere, for here and there I find faces illuminated from within; paper lanterns among the dark trees. — Carole Borges

It was my father who had taught me to love books for themselves, the smell of the vellum and paper, the rare authority of the pages. "Here, do you see this marvelous book, the skins of 182 sheep," he once pronounced as he slapped his hand down on the stamped leather cover boards. "The book is a flock, a jewel, a cemetery, a lantern, a garden, a piss pot; pigments ground of precious minerals, charred bone, lamp soot, rare plants and insects. Pigments formed at the corrosion of copper plates suspended above urine. — Regina O'Melveny