Playing With Shadow Quotes & Sayings

Sometimes, because of its immediacy, television produces a kind of electronic parable. Berlin, for instance, on the day the Wall was opened. Rostropovich was playing his cello by the Wall that no longer cast a shadow, and a million East Berliners were thronging to the West to shop with an allowance given them by West German banks! At that moment the whole world saw how materialism had lost its awesome historic power and become a shopping list. — John Berger

Writing is the light of imagination playing over shadow of thoughts. — Khaled Talib

These things must be done by the rules," said Czernberg. "Yeah," said Shadow. "But nobody tells me what they are. You keep talking about the goddamn rules, I don't even know what game you people are playing. — Neil Gaiman

So I run straight to the goal with purpose in every step. I fight to win. I'm not just shadow-boxing or playing around. (I Cor. 9:26) — Anonymous

She had imagined her mind would be bare before his, naked under a scorching desert sun, with neither shelter nor refuge. Instead, it was like playing hide-and-seek in the light and shadow of a forest, discovering and inventing a new language of double meaning, subtlety, poetry, and image. As a linguist, she was captivated; as a lover, she was enraptured. Nothing could be said the same way twice. — Karen Lord

It's just a two-man con," said Shadow. "Like the bishop and the diamond necklace and the cop. Like the guy with the fiddle, and the guy who wants to buy the fiddle, and the poor sap in between them who pays for the fiddle. Two men, who appear to be on opposite sides, playing the same game. — Neil Gaiman

Two monks sit facing, playing chess on the mountain, The bamboo shadow on the board is dark and clear. Not a person sees the bamboo's shadow, One sometimes hears the pieces being moved. — Bai Juyi

AK 47, is perfect copy, yes? Every detail. Like real thing. Yes. Kalashnikov. Your boy, he be happy for Uncle Sante, no?"
"I'm sorry, Sante. It's really nice of you, but I don't want Sofus playing with guns."
Conversation between George Hanson and Sante
In The Shadow of Sadd — Steen Langstrup

He had chosen to spend his days in the world of men. Life was what mattered, its slow, priceless pulse, its burning fragility; his debt lay with those importunate Flanders echoes that had never really left him. The private could aspire to be a general because both general and private, at their best, recognized the dire importance of strategy, fortitude, the value of their imperiled existence; but when the machinist became the executive he left the world of tangibles and human conjugacy and entered a shadow world of credits and consols - a world that seemed to reward nothing so much as irresponsibility and boundless greed. And when the thunder rolled down upon them - as he knew it would - how would he feel, playing with paper, striving to outwit his fellows, drinking imported Scotch evenings and listening to the brittle parade of comedians on radio ...? — Anton Myrer

From the back came an unearthly, satisfied chuckle. All I could see in the rearview mirror was a dark shadow with red goat-slitted eyes. Fear slithered through me.
Shit, I have a demon in my backseat. What in hell am I playing with?
"Good witch," Al said, his voice coming from nothing, and I stifled a shudder. "You're starting to understand. — Kim Harrison

The Atheist is God playing at hide and seek with Himself; but is the Theist any other? Well, perhaps; for he has seen the shadow of God and clutched at it. — Sri Aurobindo

"So, you're basically playing the part of Wendy."
Jeb pauses and glances at me. "Windy?"
"Wendy, from Peter Pan. You're stitching Dad's shadow into place." Peter Pan was his favorite fairy tale as a child. His mom read it to him every night.
There's the hint of a shy, boyish grin on his face - the one he used to give me when I'd catch him off guard. — A.G. Howard

When we left it, the city was still smoldering. Otherwise it was a perfect spring morning. White hyacinths gasped in the embassy lawn. The sky was September-blue and the pigeons went on pecking at bits of bread scattered by the bombed bakery. Broken baguettes. Crushed croissants. Gutted cars. A carousel spinning its blackened horses. He said the shadow of missiles growing larger on the sidewalk looked like god playing an air piano above us. — Ocean Vuong