Brush Strokes Quotes

When she started with the first empty canvas, she didn't know what she was going to paint, she just let her paint brushes glide and they religiously followed the trajectory of her angst; the choice of colours and the strokes, they were all a reflection of what was going through her mind. The reds were the embers within her that refused to die. The blues were the rare instances when she was spent by her grief. The blacks were her moments of absolute weakness, the colour of the bottomless pit within her that she had plunged into, falling through and through.
The brush strokes moved around blank canvases like snakes with fangs of elixir that filled her scars with a deluge of hope and a gale of faith in herself. The colours spoke to her in whispers, narrating their own tale while she poured out hers to them. They allowed her to channel her life through them. They listened. They cared. They laughed. They cried. They reassured her that there was life waiting ahead, staring at her past, urging her forward with eager arms. And Preeti rushed into them with her brush in hand that rose along with her and fell along with her. ~ Faraaz Kazi

Optimal Tower is a skyscraper unlike its predecessors, rising skyward as an artistic endeavor, spirited and soulful, with a steel and glass manifestation reminiscent of Claude Monet's water lilies, and instantly dismissive of the gray, steel and mortar structures of the past. The architects and builders have pilfered Monet's color pallet and painted this vertical stretch of the Cavanaugh skyline with the delicate greens and blues and grays and yellows of Giverny. Somehow, in the structure, the sensibility of an impressionist painting emerges as the muted colors are faded in splotches and sunlit in others, with gradual transitions as subtle as the delicate brush strokes of the master himself. Steel beams crisscross haphazardly throughout the towering facade, which only reinforces its intrinsic impressionistic essence by emulating the natural randomness of the lily pond. Atop the structure, a simple fifty foot spire seems to rein in the freeform work beneath it as it merges the natural splendor into one straight pinnacle skyward. This one hundred and fifteen story building reaches twenty-five stories above its surroundings, creating a gloriously artful and peaked skyline not unlike the Alps in France that will be instantly recognizable the world over and cause onlookers to gasp and utter, "C'est Magnifique. ~ Michael Bowe

The Chinese use two brush strokes to write the word crisis. One brush stroke stands for danger; the other for opportunity. In a crisis, be aware of the danger - but recognize the opportunity. ~ Richard M. Nixon

Naked I came into the world, but brush strokes cover me, language raises me, music rhythms me. Art is my rod and staff, my resting place and shield, and not mine only, for art leaves nobody out. Even those from whom art has been stolen away by tyranny, by poverty, begin to make it again. If the arts did not exist, at every moment, someone would begin to create them, in song, out of dust and mud, and although the artifacts might be destroyed, the energy that creates them is not destroyed. ~ Jeanette Winterson

... something was not right... almost as if something were hiding amongst the paint... squeezed in between the brush strokes... a kind of presence bringing it alive... ~ Trevor Alan Foris

Jobs was a strong-willed, elitist artist who didn't want his creations mutated inauspiciously by unworthy programmers. To him it would be as if someone off the street added some brush strokes to a Picasso painting or changed the lyrics to a Dylan song. ~ Walter Isaacson

So there were two worlds: the perceived world, a dimension of adjectives, equations and brush strokes, a surface dazzling with our efforts to render it, but ultimately bearing only our own reflections; and the impenetrable world, the plumbless dark full of latent particles, the primordial cauldron which, like a mother, gives us our being but is a lifelong riddle. ~ Bia Lowe

How much of your life can you account for? My life is a collage of unaccounted for brush strokes; I am all random. ~ John Guare

Is the sky painted?" Isidore asked. "Are there really brush strokes that show up under magnification?"

"Yes," Mercer said.

"I can't see them."

"You're too close," Mercer said. "You have to be a long way off, the way the androids are. They have better perspective."

"Is that why they claim you're a fraud?"

"I am a fraud," Mercer said. "They're sincere; their research is genuine. From their standpoint I am an elderly retired bit player named Al Jarry. All of it, their disclosure, is true. They interviewed me at my home, as they claim; I told them whatever they wanted to know, which was everything."

"Including about the whisky?"

Mercer smiled. "It was true. They did a good job and from their standpoint Buster Friendly's disclosure was convincing. They will have trouble understanding why nothing has changed. Because you're still here and I'm still here." Mercer indicated with a sweep of his hand the barren, rising hillside, the familiar place. "I lifted you from the tomb world just now and I will continue to lift you until you lose interest and want to quit. But you will have to stop searching for me because I will never stop searching for you."

"I didn't like that about the whisky," Isidore said. "That's lowering."

"That's because you're a highly moral person. I'm not. I don't judge, not even myself." Mercer held out a closed hand, palm up. "Before I forget it, I have something of y ~ Philip K. Dick

They were wrestling with canvases, using violent colors and huge brush strokes. I arrived with gray, silent, sober, oppressed paintings. One critic said they were paintings that thought. ~ Antoni Tapies

Everybody has a direct view of the person "behind" the art, so there is going to be a certain amount of awareness of who is making songs. But I like paintings where you can see the brush-strokes. ~ Jeffrey Lewis

The art of achievement is the art of making life - your life - a masterpiece. ~ Wilferd Peterson

Grain is the brush stroke of photography. ~ Constantine Manos

The sky is stained pink and purple, and the shadows are thick, stark brush strokes on the ground. But the air is still warm, and several trees are crowned with tiny green leaves.
I like seeing the Wilds this way: skinny, naked, not yet clothed in spring. But reaching, too, grasping and growing, full of want and a thirst for sun that gets slaked a little bit more every day. Soon the Wilds will explode, drunk and vibrant. ~ Lauren Oliver

When you join the Parachute Regiment they send you on training and initiation exercises. One of the tasks is to accept and care for a pet white rabbit. The young squaddie has to feed, brush, stroke and comfort his rabbit for a week, and become attached to it. Then he has to shoot it. ~ Matthew Parris

Well, I am not interested in the kind of expression that you have when you paint a painting with brush strokes. It's all right, but it's already done and I want to do something new. ~ Donald Judd

God Is The Artist Of Your Landscape

Will things always work out in the way you hope and want? Of course not! You are not the illustrator of your life painting. God has all the hues and brush strokes worked out. The painting He is creating, thanks to the struggle He has given you, is a masterpiece. ~ Cheryl Zelenka

Maybe tomorrow is counting on me
To learn my lessons today
I'll start by taking a step at a time
And stop throwing my blessings away
I'll get myself up and I'll brush myself off
And take back some of the pride that I've lost
'Cause you can't always keep your feet on the ground
I guess we all learn the hard way and we all fall down ~ Bekka Bramlett

Grow the lawn and mow the lawn
always keep the TV on,
brush your teeth and kill the germs,
poison apples, poison worms. ~ Trenton Lee Stewart

Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual There! ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

Whatever you feel or think your exact state at the exact moment of your brush touching the canvas is in some way registered in that stroke. ~ Robert Henri

There was all the difference in the world between this planning airily away from the canvas and actually taking her brush and making the first mark. ~ Virginia Woolf

And, suddenly, I want to touch him. Not a push, or a shove, or even a friendly hug. I want to feel the creases in his skin, connect his freckles with invisible lines, brush my fingers across the inside of his wrist. ~ Stephanie Perkins

Great sculptors and artists spend countless hours perfecting their talents. They don't pick up a chisel or a brush and palette, expecting immediate perfection. They understand that they will make many errors as they learn, but they start with the basics, the key fundamentals first. ~ Joseph B. Wirthlin

Every day you and I walk through God's shop. Every day we brush up against objects of incalculable worth to Him. People. Every one of them carries a price tag, if only we could see it. ~ John Ortberg

Alas, poor men, their destiny. When all goes well a shadow will overthrow it. If it be unkind one stroke of a wet sponge wipes all the picture out; and that is far the most unhappy thing of all.
-Cassandra ~ Aeschylus

Random sex isn't my style." "Who said anything about random?" Another teasing brush, another rush of exquisite pleasure. "I plan to have sex with you on a regular basis. ~ Nalini Singh

If you ask all the cells
in my body,
they only answer your name.
Follicles push the hair upwards
so they may brush
against your skin.
Nails grow faster as well.
Lungs breathe rapidly
in hopes of inhaling your scent.
Toes curl to smile and
knees form dimples when you are near.
Brain fireworks.
Stomach fills with flies of butter
and swallows, and
swans swoon.
Cattle, rhinos, and walruses too -
there's a stampede when you are near.
I love you from the bottom of my liver
to the tip of my lashes.
One wink from you and heart stops,
like a sneeze. Bless you.
I cannot even begin to tell you
what happens to soul,
for soul is off
flying with its mate. ~ Kamand Kojouri

Once as I sat painting, I became aware of a man's face hovering near me, moving closer and closer to the panel I was working on. When he spoke he said, 'That is a fantastic brush! ~ Robert Genn

Behind us, the man laughed. "Looks like we aren't the only ones looking for a little diversion. There's an empty office right over there, guys."
Marsten raised his hand in thanks. The couple moved on. I let the kiss continue for five more seconds, then pulled away.
"They're gone," I said.
Marsten frowned, as if surprised-and disappointed-that I'd noticed. I tugged my hair from his hands.
"Okay, coast clear," I said. "Let's go."
He let out a small laugh. "I see I need to brush up on my kissing."
"No, you have that down pat."
"She says with all the excitement of a teacher grading a math quiz ... "
"A-plus. Now let's move. Before someone else comes along. ~ Kelley Armstrong

If I hear about a tsunami that hit Asia, hundreds of people have lost their lives, and you see it and you hear about it, but you still brush your teeth, still have to go on with your day. But let you get information about one person who you're close to or you're intimate with, it has an almost paralyzing effect. ~ Ryan Coogler

In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!" - yet ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

Carla might recognize herself in the lean girls against the bar, the girls in slender-cut suits with silver rings on each finger and thumb who looked so compact and secretive, so much as if all their essences were perfectly locked and kept, and only if you managed to please them could you unlock their fingers and pry them out. They smelled of a different perfume, they never quite met your eyes except in a swift and thorough appraisal whose conclusion you became aware of immediately when their eyes averted without the longed-for approving smile. You longed to go with them to secret apartments in the suburbs or condos on the lakeshore and there have their fingers brush down your back and have their maroon mouths kiss your thighs. ~ Dionne Brand

She tries to move toward him, but the path is covered with gravel, which slows her down. Then he turns his head and sees her. He puts down his brush and comes closer, and the closer he comes, the closer he comes, the happier she is she didn't put on mascara, she doesn't want to cry but she can't help it, she can hardly see him through the welling tears. She quickly wipes her eyes. She looks at him. He's standing two steps away. She could stretch out her hand, he'd come even closer, she could touch him. He's the same, thinner, the most beautiful man in the world, with the eyes Germain Pire described to her, a very pale blue, almost gray, quiet and gentle, with something struggling in their depths, a child, a soul of agony. His voice hasn't changed.

The first thing she hears him say--it's terrible--he asks her, "You can't walk?" She shakes her head. He sighs, goes back to his painting. She pushes the wheels, moves toward the shed. He looks over at her again, he smiles. "You want to see what I'm doing?" She nods her head. "I'll show you in a little bit," he says. "But not right now, it's not finished."

So while she waits, she sits up straight in her scooter, she crosses her hands in her lap, she looks at him. Yes, she looks at him, she looks at him, life is long and can still carry a great deal more on its back.

She looks at him. ~ Sébastien Japrisot

Kavita looks peaceful when she's sleeping, when the Morphine finally brings her some comfort. Jasu sits in a chair next to the bed and reaches for her frail hand. With his touch, her eyes flutter open and she licks her dried lips. She sees him and smiles.
"Jani, you're back," she says softly.
"I went there, chakli." He tries to begin slowly, but the words come tumbling out. "I went to Shanti, the orphanage. The man there knows her, he's met her, Kavi. Her name is Asha now. She grew up in America, her parents are doctors, and she writes stories for newspapers - look, this is hers, she wrote this."
He waves the article in front of her.
"America."
Kavita's voice is barely a whisper. She closes her eyes and a tear drips down the side of her face and into her ear. "So far from home. All this time, she's been so far from us."
"Such a good thing you did, chakli." He strokes her hair, pulled back into a loose bun, and wipes her tears away with his rough fingers. "Just imagine if…" He looks down, shakes his head, and clasps her hand between his. He rests his head against their hands and begins to cry. "Such a good thing."He looks up at her again. "She came looking for us, Kavi. She left this."
Jasu hands her the letter. A small smile breaks through on Kavita's face. She peers at the page while he recites from memory.
"My name is Asha… ~ Shilpi Somaya Gowda

I need to brush my teeth. And I need a shower."
He grinned, hopping off the bike. "Now that is an invitation. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

Just when she thought she could feel nothing more, he began to increase his pace, strokes that pushed her over the edge.
The storm swallowed her screams of pleasure.
She heard his exultant laughter as she jerked her hands free, gripped his buttocks and pulled him to her, riding out her climax with his. ~ Karen Ranney

I'm always writing something. I've got so much stuff, I don't know what to do with it. Some of it will be Strokes, some of it will be I don't know what - stuff for pop singers. TV themes. I've got a jar stuffed with songs, all these ideas that are just me humming into a recording device. ~ Julian Casablancas

Tell me you don't feel what I feel."
"That doesn't matter." She swallowed hard.
"It does to me." I brush my lips against hers. ~ Christine Fonseca

I feel like looking in the mirror when you brush your teeth, yes, I see lines, and then I smile and I see things here and there. But that's just, you know, you - that's your journey, you know? ~ Heidi Klum

Actually I think Art lies in both directions - the broad strokes, big picture but on the other hand the minute examination of the apparently mundane. Seeing the whole world in a grain of sand, that kind of thing. ~ Peter Hammill

An instant later, they were kissing. It was no light brush this time, no exploring touch. This was all tongues and teeth and wicked wetness as he kissed her like a man who had rough, sweaty, dirty sex on his mind and didn't care if she knew it. ~ Nalini Singh

A yellow leaf fluttered down from overhead and settled in his lap, a clear, almost transparent yellow against the brownness of the robe. He moved to brush it off and then he let it stay. For who am I, he thought, to interfere with or dispute even such a simple thing as the falling of a leaf. He ~ Clifford D. Simak

So why hadn't he confronted me? Why hadn't he torn through my lies and forced me to own up that I'd caught him in a Binding? It wasn't like he could just brush this off. And that smile before he left, as if he'd been pulling my leg to see my reaction…

I shook my head. Ryan was certainly providing his fair share of riddles. There was the tiny possibility he was still clueless and was just teasing me, but I doubted anyone could be that naïve. Even him. My mind began to tick over, desperate for an answer. Only one other thing stuck out in his behaviour. Maybe he was going for a fair exchange strategy. He wouldn't question my secrets, in the hope I wouldn't question his.

Now that was naïve. ~ Sam Dogra

...The last name had been entered by Samuel Peters' agile pen with much shading of downward strokes and many extra corkscrew appendages... ~ Bess Streeter Aldrich

Thanks for getting me out of there," I murmur, lacing my fingers around my knees, and looking up at him on his step.
"Yeah. You looked a little green. "
"I don't handle crowds too well. I've always been that way, I guess."
"You might get in trouble," he warns, staring at me in that strange, hungry way that unravels me. He strokes his bottom lip with a finger. For a flash of a second, his eyes look strange. Different. All glowing irises and thin dark pupils. Almost drake-like. I blink to clear my vision. His eyes are normal again. Just my imagination in overdrive. I'm probably projecting missing home and Az - everything--onto him. "Pep rallies are mandatory," he continues. "A lot of people saw you leave. Teachers included."
"They saw you leave, too," I point out.
He leans to the side, propping an elbow on one of the steps behind him. "I'm not worried about that. I've been in trouble before." He smiles a crooked grin and holds up crossed fingers. "The principal and I are like this. The guy loves me. Really."
Laughter spills from me, rusty and hoarse.
His grin makes me feel good. Free. Like I'm not running from anything. Like I could stay here in this world, if only I have him.
The thought unsettles me. Sinks heavily in my chest. Because I can't have him. Not really. All he can ever be for me is a temporary fix.
"But you're worried I'll get in trouble?" I try not to show how much this pleases me. I've managed to ignore him for days n ~ Sophie Jordan

Calm now," I said with my lips to his ear and my hand to the side of his face. I knew he was thinking of Bad Axe, straining against a distant memory. In a lucid instant, he gripped my hand and searched my face. I felt him fighting to hold to this life, at great sufferance to himself.
I whispered, "Don't struggle for me, Henry, not if you are tired and wish to go."
I pressed my lips to his cheek, touched my finger to the corners of his eyes to brush away the moisture there.
"Husband?" I asked, searching his face, wondering why, suddenly, it had changed so.
All that night, I kept watch over him.
Even though he had gone, I did not want him to believe that such a small thing as the end of living could ever separate the two of us. ~ Micaela Gilchrist

I stroke it to the East, and I stroke it to the West, and I stroke it to the woman that I love best. I be strokin'. ~ Clarence Carter

As far as he was concerned, all women wanted all men. And vice versa. What stood in the way between a man and a woman at Cafe Algiers was a few chairs, a table, maybe a door
material distance. All a man needed was the will and above all the patience to wait out a woman's scruples or help her brush them aside. As in a game of penny poker, he explained, all that matters was simply the will to keep raising the pot by a single penny each time; a single penny, not two; a single penny was easy, you wouldn't even feel it; but you had to wait for her to raise you by a penny as well, which is when you'd raise her by another, she by yet another, and so on. Seduction was not pushing people into doing things they did not wish to do. Seduction was just keeping the pennies coming. ~ Andre Aciman

When I came to myself again, I said - 'When I get so that I can do that, I'll be able to raise the dead, and then I won't have to pilot a steamboat to make a living. I want to retire from this business. I want a slush-bucket and a brush; I'm only fit for a roustabout. I haven't got brains enough to be a pilot; and if I had I wouldn't have strength enough to carry them around, unless I went on crutches.' 'Now drop that! When I say I'll learn {footnote ['Teach' is not in the river vocabulary.]} a man the river, I mean it. And you can depend on it, I'll learn him or kill him. ~ Mark Twain

I brush some of his hair out of his eyes and look at him with so much love that I must look like I'm going to burst. ~ Yvonne Prinz

In the afternoon, over gold screens,
I will brush the blue dust of my dreams. ~ John Gould Fletcher

I thought you were dead," he said, his voice a bare rasp while Samual moved from his hands to his feet. It didn't seem to hurt as much - at a guess there weren't a lot of nerves left. He jumped into a burning building barefoot to save me.
"Stupid," I said, blinking hard. "As if I'd die without taking you with me."
He smiled faintly. "Was it Mary Jo who betrayed us at the bowling alley?
" he asked, proven he hadn't been entirely unaware of what had been going on while he was changing.
Both of us ignore the pained sound Mary Jo made.
"I'll ask her later."
He nodded. "Better - " He quit talking, and his pupils contracted despite the morphine he'd been giving.
He arched up and twisted so he could press his face into my belly, making a noise somewhere between a screem and a growel. I held him there well Samual snared at Ben and Mary Jo to hold him still.
Another shot of morphine, and Samuel moved us all around. Ben across Adams legs - "And don't think I haven't noticed your hands, Ben. You're next up." Mary Jo on one arm, just above the elbow. Me on the other.
"Can you hold him?" asked Samuel.
"Not if he doesn't want me to," I told him.
"It'll be alright," Adam said. "I won't hurt her."
Samuel smiled tightly. "No, I didn't think you would."
When Samuel started on Adams face with the brush, I had to close my eyes.
"Shh," Adam comforted me. "It'll be over soon. ~ Patricia Briggs

Yes, I'm too mad to punish you right now. We'll talk about it when we get home. Go brush your teeth, comb your hair, put on dry clothes, and get the guns. We're going to Wal-Mart. ~ Ilona Andrews

I look into your eyes and I'm sure that some divine artist dipped her brush in the same soul and used it to paint us both. ~ Cristen Rodgers