And like a colorful bloom of temporary lights in the sky, you will shine.
Her heavy peasant face was fringed by a bang of red hair like a woollen table-spread, a colour at once strange and attractive, an obstinate colour, a colour that seemed to make Lena feel something alien and bad-tempered had settled over her forehead...
Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who's an 8 color type...I'm like, hey girl, Magenta! and she's like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no I want Magenta!
[At night, after searching all day for the way to Messiah Kings, Zia and Mikal suddenly come upon what appears to be an ocean] Zia: Holy shit. [They stop in astonishment and he looks at her] Zia: Let's go. How come no one in camp mentioned the beach is so close? Mikal: Maybe they don't know. Maybe we're the only ones who know. [They make their way down and start to pick their way along the rocky shore. Romantic music starts to play and she look his way] Mikal: Hi. Zia: Hi. You remember the other day when you were talking about missing things from life and, uh... and how you wanted to go back and I told you I didn't miss anything? Mikal: Yeah. Zia: Well... when I'm here... with you, I kind of miss myself the way I used to be. Mikal: What were you like? I was... I was happy at a time. Obviously before I came here, but... Mikal: Yeah. Mikal: something about being here with you reminds me of that. It's just, I don't know, it's just weird to me that you can feel that in a place like this. We're all... We're all dead. Mikal: You know what? Most of the people that I knew before I got here were either half dead or just completely dead already. You know, completely dead. And you're doing pretty good, Zia. Zia: You think so? Mikal: Yeah, definitely. [Long awkward silence follows and they look at each other. Zia finally leans in to kiss her and they make out. We see a shot of light reflecting off the water and then see, in the daylight, the two of them, still full clothed, spooning together on the rocks. The camera starts to pull back and we notice unused condoms in various colors as well as used syringes strewn all over the place with discarded beer bottles] Kneller: [We hear shouting from afar] Zia! Mikal! Zia: [groggily, just starting to move] Kneller. Freaking out. [He looks up and around as she see Kneller approaching] Zia: Fuck. Fuck! Mik, get up. [They are both startled by their surroundings] Zia: Oh, my God. Oh, God. Kneller: Zia. There they are. I've just been worried sick about you. Zia: [to Mikal] Careful. Careful. Don't step on it. Put your shoes on. Kneller: I hope you didn't sleep *here.* Zia: Well, yeah. Kneller: Ah! This is where intravenous drug users and prostitutes congregated. It was too revolting for them. Can we get the hell out of here?
El significado de los colores es que est
The purest and most thoughtful minds are those which love color the most.
... los colores no pueden comprenderse, se sienten.
El color es el tacto del ojo, la m
I'm painting color squares. One square - one color. That's what I paint.
Jean Girard: [has Ricky in an arm lock] I will let you go, Ricky. But first, I want you to say..."I... love... crepes." Cal Naughton, Jr.: Don't you say it, Ricky. These colors don't run. Ricky Bobby: I'm not gonna say it. Cal Naughton, Jr.: Good. Ricky Bobby: Hey, look, Frenchy, I thought about it. So why don't you go ahead and break my arm? Jean Girard: I do not want to break your arm, Monsieur Bobby, but I am a man of my word. Ricky Bobby: Here's the deal. He's not gonna break it because I'm gonna slip out of it right now. Houdini! [he tries unsuccessfully to get free] Jean Girard: Whoa! Get down, you little pancake. Ricky Bobby: Someone might as well get me a beer while I'm down here. Jean Girard: But you have forced me to do this. You are now mocking me and making me look ridiculous. Just say, "I love crepes." Cal Naughton, Jr.: You know, just to put this in there, I had a whole mess of crepes this morning. They're just like pancakes, maybe even better. Ricky Bobby: Wait, are they the really thin pancakes? Cal Naughton, Jr.: Yeah. Jean Girard: Yes they are. They are the really thin pancakes. It's just a French word for them. Ricky Bobby: Oh, my god, I love those. Cal Naughton, Jr.: Put any syrups you want on them. I'm just saying, think about it. Ricky Bobby: They come with cheese sometimes? Jean Girard: Yes, of course, a fromage-crepe. Ricky Bobby: Well, why didn't someone yell that right-right away? Jean Girard: Do you know what's in the crepe suzette? Ricky Bobby: Oh, I love the crepe suzette. Jean Girard: With the sugar and lemon juice... Ricky Bobby: Yeah, the sugar and the lemon juice. Sure. Jean Girard: Grand Marnier. Ricky Bobby: I wo - I wish I could crawl into one of those right now. I'd eat my way out from the inside.
Melanie Lewis: I don't like cold weather. Give me heat any day. There's this island called Tahiti. I'm going there when I grow up. No winter - just long, hot days. Ryan Flynn: I don't know. I kinda like fall and winter. Melanie Lewis: That's 'cause your parents told you winter makes you look forward to summer. Why wait nine months? Ryan Flynn: I suppose you're right. But I'd still miss the colors and the leaves. Melanie Lewis: Boy, someone snowed you over but good!
[on Harry dressing like a mortician] Dwayne Hoover: Modern science has given us a vast array of colors with exciting names like Red! Blue! Orange! Brown! and PINK! Harry Le Sabre: Why don't you come right out and say it, Dwayne? Dwayne Hoover: Say what, Harry? Harry Le Sabre: That I like to wear women's clothing. Dwayne Hoover: Is that what you LIKE, Harry? Harry Le Sabre: Yes... I mean, NO! NO! OF COURSE NOT!
[Bubbles is playing drums, Buttercup on bass, and Blossom on lead guitar] Bubbles: [singing] Open your eyes and take in every thing that you see. Look at all the colors, red yellow blue and green. We can take an airplane and fly across the world. Look down upon the colors come on everybody lets go! Because... Girls: [singing] Love, Love, love lalalove, lalalove, makes the world go round. Love, Love, love lalalove, lalalove, makes the world go round. Bubbles: [singing] Open your ears and listen what the world has to say. Hear the birds and bells and you will have a brighter day. Everyone has a special song, deep inside their heart. If you want to sing with us, it's a perfect place to start. [Blossom plays a guitar lead] Buttercup: [singing] Love love love lalalove, lalalove makes the world go round. Bubbles: [singing] You cant hurt me with the things that you do, I'll pick up dandilions and I'll give 'em to you. Blossom: [singing] Puppy dogs, kitty cats swimming in love. Girls: [singing] Love, Love, love lalalove, lalalove, makes the world go round. Love, Love, love lalalove, lalalove, makes the world go round.
Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways.
Damien Wiles: ["America, The Beautiful" plays softly in background, with gradual crescendo throughout] Let me tell you something. There are no colors around here, Mister. No color lines. [referring to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr] Damien Wiles: I'm a believer in the teachings of your great leader, that a man should be judged by his character and not by his color. I take black kids off the streets, I clean 'em up, I give 'em a job.
Elder Aaron Davis: Look, whatever you thought, don't. We're colors and whites. We don't mix.
He had that curious love of green, which in individuals is always the sign of a subtle artistic temperament, and in nations is said to denote a laxity, if not a decadence of morals.
The Joker: [the Joker interrupts a meeting between Lau and Gotham's criminals] Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha oh hee hee ha ah ooh hee ha ha. And I thought my jokes were bad. Gambol: Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here pull your head off. The Joker: How about a magic trick? [pulls out a pencil] The Joker: I'm gonna make this pencil disappear. [slams Gambol's thug's head into pencil] The Joker: Ta-da! It's... it's gone. Oh and about the suit. It wasn't cheap. You oughta know: you bought it. [Gambol gets up in anger] The Chechen: Sit. I want to hear proposition. The Joker: Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you. I mean what happened? Did... did your balls drop off? Hmm? You see a guy like me... Gambol: [interrupts] A freak. The Joker: A guy... like me... Look, listen. I know why you choose to have your little group therapy sessions here in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night; the Batman. You see, Batman has shown Gotham your true colors unfortunately. Dent, he's just the beginning. And, and as for the television's so-called plan? Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him, and make him squeal. I know the squealers when I see them and... [points at Lau] The Chechen: What do you propose? The Joker: It's simple: We, uh, kill the Batman. [everyone laughs] Salvatore Maroni: If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already? The Joker: If you're good at something, never do it for free. The Chechen: How much you want? The Joker: Uh... half. [everyone laughs again] Gambol: You're crazy. The Joker: I'm not. No, I'm not. If we don't deal with this now, soon little uh, Gambol here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma. Gambol: Enough from the clown! The Joker: [reveals the inside of his jacket, which has five hand grenades with the pins attached to a thread tied to the Joker's finger] Ah-ta-ta-ta-ta! Let's not "blow" this out of proportion. Gambol: You think you can steal from us and just walk away? The Joker: Yeah. Gambol: I'm puttin' the word out: 500 hundred grand for this clown dead. A million alive so I can teach him some manners first. The Joker: Alright, so listen. Why don't you give me a call when you want to start taking things a little more seriously? Here's my card. [leaves joker card on the table and walks away]
Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing? Can one really explain this? no. Just as one can never learn how to paint.
Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple...
The phrase and the day and the scene harmonized in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of legend and colour? Or was it that, being as weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language manycoloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose?
Libby Mae Brown: My aunt brought out her atlas that I look at a lot. This big blue book and opened up to New York and it's an island, is really what it is. It's this island full of people of different colors and different ideas and I can't- It sounds like a lot of fun to me. You know, we don't see much of that in Blaine. I'd like to maybe meet some guys, some Italian guys, you know... watch TV and stuff.
Chains: [showing his "colors" to Stone] This may be a rag to the walking dead out there, but *this* is my flag, my cross, my church. And these colors don't run... If they hit the ground even in a fight, I will peel your skin off with a knife dipped in shit.
Grandpa Randolph: I hear the circus clowns. I hear them. They're singing. Ryan Flynn: Will I ever see you again. Grandpa Randolph: The colors of sunset. Warm and Cool. Always extraordinary. Always extraordinary. Live your life Ryan Flynn.
Paris Driver: Okay, if you're so smart, let me ask you a question. What color am I? Blind Woman: I don't give a fuck about colors! Paris Driver: But people have different colors of skin. Blind Woman: Look, I don't care if you're green or blue like a carrot! For me the word color doesn't mean anything. I feel colors... but you'd never understand that!
People can have the Model T in any color
The word itself has another color. It
My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I'm told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but its silver when its wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.
On and on they flew, over the countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
Love was a feeling completely bound up with color, like thousands of rainbows superimposed one on top of the other.
It is really a matter of ending this silence and solitude, of breathing and stretching one's arms again.
He was golden and beautiful as a sunset.
I'm not an abstractionist. I'm not interested in the relationship of color or form or anything else. I'm interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.
Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.
Drenched in British purples, I have offered up my tones: pigeon breast, hind belly, balky mule lung, monkey bottom pink, lapis lazuli and malachite, excited nymph thigh, panther pee-pee, high-smelling hen hair, hedgehog in aspic, barrel-maker's brothel, revered rose, monkeybush, turkey-like white, sly violet, page's slipper, immaculate nun spring, unspeakable red, Ensor azure, affected yellow, mummy skull, rock-hard gray, brunt celadon, shop soiled smoke ring.
They sang the words in unison, yet somehow created a web of sounds with their voices. It was like hearing a piece of fabric woven with all the colors of a rainbow. I did not know that such beauty could be formed by the human mouth. I had never heard harmony before.
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