Unpainted Ceramic Bisque Quotes

Am I really just a narcissist,
Cause I wake up to a bowl of lobster bisque? ~ Rick Ross

I long for eternity because there I shall meet my unwritten poems and my unpainted pictures. ~ Kahlil Gibran

And a whimsical ceramic sugar bowl shaped like an octopus. ~ Christa Faust

The sky, an inverted blue ceramic cauldron, poured out a hot dry brew. ~ Dean Koontz

I feel like there's too many paintings left unpainted that I just don't want to take the time away. ~ Alan Bean

I'm like a grenade made of ceramic -solid and dense and cold- but still fragile. ~ Jasmine Warga

The unpainted walls of the long rectangular room were soaked with the smell of greasy chicken and warm, headless beer. The brown and pink faces floated above the trails of used cigarette smoke like bodiless carnival balloons. ~ Gloria Naylor

Nowhere in this country, from sea to sea, does nature comfort us with such assurance of plenty, such rich and tranquil beauty as in those unsung, unpainted hills of Pennsylvania. ~ Rebecca Harding Davis

He was in a tiny metal-and-ceramic box that was exchanging matter for energy to throw a half dozen primates across a vacuum larger than millions of oceans. ~ Anonymous

Which Painters hold, and such the heritage This gentle solemn Spirit doth possess, Being a better mirror of his age In all his pity, love, and weariness, Than those who can but copy common things, And leave the Soul unpainted with its mighty questionings. But ~ Oscar Wilde

As I look at the barn in my ninth decade, I see the no-smoking sign, rusted and tilting on the unpainted gray clapboard. My grandfather, born in 1875, milked his cattle there a century ago. ~ Donald Hall

God left the world unfinished; the pictures unpainted, the songs unsung, and the problems unsolved, that man might know the joys of creation. ~ Thomas S. Monson

We're now able to 3D print in 200 different materials, from titanium to rubber, plastic, glass, ceramic, leathers, and even chocolate. ~ Peter Diamandis

Samarkand, with its magnificent mosques, tombs and dazzling ensembles of ceramic tiles, is still one of the world's most awe-inspiring cities. ~ Stephen Kinzer

Cole stared at the Pinocchio clock, then a small ceramic figurine of Jiminy Cricket a client had given him. Let your conscience be your guide. Everyone needed a Jiminy. ~ Robert Crais

Fire isn't flavor, but the Big Green Egg, that ingenious ceramic capsule of goodness, that Reese's Peanut Butter Cup of cookout equipment, both grill and smoker - God bless! - was ~ T. Geronimo Johnson

Between two of the joists, backlit by a bare dust-coated bulb in a white ceramic socket, a fat spider danced from string to string, plucking from its silken harp a music beyond human hearing. Bibi ~ Dean Koontz

Constance Spry was one of the first people to put flowers in urns and ceramic swans and other unusual containers, but her arrangements tended to be a little less full. ~ Catherine Martin

I can see hope inside it."
Rachel ran her fingers over the ceramic designs.
"So fragile. ~ Rick Riordan

They toasted each other, then after she sipped hers, she ate some of the bisque - creamy, a little buttery, with lots of big chunks of lobster and a hint of garlic. It was so good that she asked him for the recipe. He gave it to her and added," But I'll fix it for you anytime. ~ Terry Spear

A lobster bisque ought to be the crowning glory of the potager. And this one was excellent. Silky as a gigolo's compliment and fishy as a chancellor's promise. ~ A.A. Gill

Phenex gently took the biscuit from her, examined it for a moment, and then, in a blur of movement, pelted Gadreel with it. It hit him squarely in the forehead before landing in his bisque, making it splatter.
Gadreel bared his teeth. "I was playing."
"So am I. It's a game called Whack-a-Douche. I just set the all-time high score. ~ Kendra Leigh Castle

On barstools they ogled the bachelorettes in the club and discussed their chances, recalling near-conquests from previous visits. In the buffet lines they foraged from the heat lamps and steam trays, and impaled and then swirled wasabi around tiny ceramic saucers, tinting soy sauce. ~ Colson Whitehead

When many people think of "new age" they think of crystals and purple decals and ceramic angels in people's windows and a kind of fuzzy thinking - which is abhorrent to a serious person. ~ Marianne Williamson

Some kids spent their allowance going to see 'Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom'; I spent mine on a great-looking lamp I'd found at the flea market and a ceramic bowl from a neighborhood garage sale. ~ Nate Berkus

Singh in computational biology held forth on her theory of the protomolecule as a Guzman-style quantum computer one night over dinner, and when Kibushi used the information without citing her, she snuck into the showers at the gymnasium and beat him to death with a ceramic workbench cap. ~ James S.A. Corey

For all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain unpainted to the last. True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness. So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like. ~ Herman Melville

Marriage is not
a house or even a tent
it is before that, and colder:
the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn
the edge of the receding glacier
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire ~ Margaret Atwood

Ceramic trade goods involved interconnected markets from Mexico City to Mesa Verde, Colorado. Shells from the Gulf of California, tropical bird feathers from the Gulf Coast area of Mexico, obsidian from Durango, Mexico, and flint from Texas were all found in the ruins of Casa Grande (Arizona), the commercial center of the northern frontier. ~ Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

I like doing arts and crafts, so I would probably go to one of those fun little ceramic places and go paint some plates and do something fun like that. ~ Christina Milian

I want to contrast this ceramic image of the world with the distinctly different dramatic image that is the presiding image of the Hindus. Their idea is that God did not make the world, but acted it. That is to say, every person and every thing is a role or part that the Godhead is playing. ~ Alan W. Watts

Married pixy, I told myself, forcing my eyes back to the shelf of ceramic animals. Fifty-four kids. Beautiful wife, sweet as sugar, who would kill me in my sleep while apologizing for it. ~ Kim Harrison

Abraham as a boy crawled around the synagogue bum-in-air with his nose pressed against antique Chinese blue. He never told his mother that his father had reappeared in ceramic form on the synagogue floor a year after he decamped, in a little blue rowing-boat with blue-skinned foreign-looking types by his side, heading off towards an equally blue horizon. ~ Salman Rushdie

Better still [than pure sugar] was the remedy known as theriac, the root of the English word 'treacle,' which was kept in ornate ceramic jars on the shelves of every self-respecting apothecary shop. The name comes from the Greek therion, meaning 'venomous animal,' for theriac was supposed in Classical times to counteract all venoms and poisons. ~ Philip Ball

All the perks, all the benefits and advantages you may get for the rank or position you hold, they aren't meant for you. They are meant for the role you fill. And when you leave your role, which eventually you will, they will give the ceramic cup to the person who replaces you. Because you only ever deserved a Styrofoam cup. ~ Simon Sinek

She had an unusual name. She knew that much. It wasn't the kind of name that you found on ceramic coffee mugs at airport gift shops or emblazoned on mini-license plate souvenirs you could hang on your bedroom door after you returned from Disneyland. Her name was pretty and unusual and had meaning. ~ Melissa De La Cruz

something that at first sight appeared to be the luminous bones of some massive, extinct creature, now disinterred, with its ribs gathered into a neat bundle around the thick stump of a massive spinal column which time and the elements had polished to such a cool ceramic gloss that if I were to leave my hand on it I would have been surprised if it felt like anything other than glass ~ Mike McCormack

Kintsugi is based on the belief that something broken is stronger and more beautiful because of its imperfections, the history attached to it, and its altered state. Instead of hiding what's been damaged, the shards are mended with a special resin mixed with gold dust. The bonded seams become an intrinsic part of the ceramic and add a personalized, one-of-a-kind beauty through its imperfections. ~ Jo Ann V. Glim

The beautiful statue of Ganymede and the eagle looked like they had been molded out of white ceramic, and in Ganymede's outstretched arms it seemed to me a whole world was being embraced, a rushing world of gray sky and gray water where everything passed by so fast that you cnever got the chance to hold it, to touch it, to make it yours. Can't we keep anything? ~ Kim Stanley Robinson

The wife picked out ceramic tile for floor covering, not realizing that cost was determined by square foot, not square yard like carpet. Thinking the price was plenty reasonable, she had an extra room of tile ordered for installation. When the bill arrived, it was staggering. She and her husband began a fight that continued all through the construction job. They ended up divorced, but not until she had broken every window. ~ Jim Harrison

Pike got into the Lexus, but Larkin stepped inside the door so he couldn't close it. Her face seemed as brittle as a ceramic mask, and Pike suddenly remembered how she had looked up in the desert when she was unloading on her father. Only now she didn't seem so much angry as betrayed. Pike gentled his voice. I'm sorry if I should have discussed it with you. I didn't think it would be an issue. ~ Robert Crais

Embarrassingly enough, at present there is no theory explaining the properties of these high-temperature superconductors. In fact, a Nobel Prize is awaiting the enterprising physicist who can explain how high-temperature superconductors work. (These high-temperature superconductors are made of atoms arranged in distinctive layers. Many physicists theorize that this layering of the ceramic material makes it possible for electrons to flow freely within each layer, creating a superconductor. But precisely how this is done is still a mystery.) ~ Michio Kaku

In his original design the solicitor's clerk seemed to have forgotten the need for a staircase to link both the floors, and what he had provided had the appearance of an afterthought. Doorways had been punched in the eastern wall and a rough wooden staircase - heavy planks on an uneven frame with one warped unpainted banister, the whole covered with a sloping roof of corrugated iron - hung precariously at the back of the house, in striking contrast with the white-pointed brickwork of the front, the white woodwork and the frosted glass of doors and windows.
For this house Mr.Biswas had paid five thousand five hundred dollars. ~ V.S. Naipaul

My home has a split personality. Some of the rooms are very French antique. Think Aubusson rugs, turquoise ceramic jugs, sandbag pillows, and broken birdcages. The other half is very Aztec. Neon ikat fabric pillows, vintage books piled up to the ceiling, and shutters from Bali. ~ Poppy Delevingne

I grew up watching my father make plates that featured penises as centerpieces. Pink, proud, and stiff, encircled by cerulean Greek key, Dad's creations made me feel scared and small. I saw a private part of the man I could not measure up to. At six years old, I lived in a world shaded by his ceramic glazes. There was love and color, but anger, too, in the way he kneaded his clay, palms pounding the rich, wet earth into shapes of his choosing. ~ Royal Young

Souls spread over the planet and leave no mountain unclimbed, no valley undiscovered, no sea unsailed, ventured even into outer space.
Souls mingle and leave no relationship unattempted, no emotion unfelt, no pleasure and pain unexplored.
Souls plunge into their minds and leave no tale untold, no image unpainted, no melody unheard.
Souls transcend their fantasies and leave no idea unthought, no natural law undescribed, no wisdom undefined.
Souls even pass over the thinkeable and witness ineffable realms of other worlds and their inhabitants.
Curiosity, the drive to experience, the urge of urges, the world's innermost desire. We, souls, are its foremost scouts. We are the embodiment of the purpose of existence. ~ Stefan Emunds

People in coats and ties were milling around the Talley gallery, and on the wall were the minimally rendered still lifes by Giorgio Morandi, most of them no bigger than a tea tray. Their thin browns, ashy grays, and muted blues made people speak softly to one another, as if a shouted word might curdle one of the paintings and ruin it. Bottles, carafes, and ceramic whatnots sat in his paintings like small animals huddling for warmth, and these shy pictures could easily hang next to a Picasso or Matisse without feeling inferior. ~ Steve Martin

In the east," she says after a time, her gaze still downcast, "there is a tradition known as kintsukuroi. It is the practice of mending broken ceramic pottery using lacquer dusted with gold and silver and other precious metals. It is meant to symbolize that things can be more beautiful for having been broken."
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.
At last she looks at me. Her irises are polished obsidian in the moonlight. "Because I want you to know," she says, "that there is life after survival. ~ Mackenzi Lee

He had hoped she would assume he had succumbed again to methamphetamine hydrochloride and was sparing her the agony of his descent back into the hell of chemical dependence. What it really was was that he had again decided those 50 grams of resin-soaked dope, which had been so potent that on the second day it had given him an anxiety attack so paralyzing that he had gone to the bathroom in a Tufts University commemorative ceramic stein to avoid leaving his bedroom, represented his very last debauch ever with dope, and that he had to cut himself off from all possible future sources of temptation and supply, ~ David Foster Wallace

When they gaze in confusion
at the broken, odd shaped, colorful
shards of glass that we are,

let them know

that we too belong here, here
in this gallery. Masterpieces,
we are not

here by accident

but have been carefully assembled
and put together and are held together
in this ceramic panel - our bodies of clay -
by good intentions.

We too are works of art. ~ Ayokunle Falomo

I glanced up at Thomas. "We've still got Hook, right?"
"He's being held prisoner on a ceramic-lined cookie sheet in the oven," Thomas said. "I figured he couldn't jigger his way out of a bunch of steel, and it would give him something to think about before we start asking questions."
"That's an awful thing to do to one of the Little Folk, man," I said.
"I'm planning to start making a pie in front of him."
"Nice."
"Thank you. ~ Jim Butcher

Anyway, a bunch of penguins were living in a ceramic bowl of cold spaghetti noodles. There was no tomato sauce because it didn't exist yet, but that was okay. As the spaghetti was cold, moisture condensed upon it. This kept the spaghetti from sticking, or from sticking to the penguins, or the bowl. It also kept the penguins from sticking to the bowl, and from sticking to each other.
As I mentioned, tomato sauce did not exist yet. You should realize since this was a beginning, the moisture didn't either. Neither did the bowl. I think you can guess about the penguins. How could there be penguins if nothing existed yet? ~ David S. Atkinson

Intellectually, he knew that he was falling sunward, heading in from the Jovian system toward the Belt. In a week, the sun would be close to twice the size it was now, and it would still be insignificant. In a context of such immensity, of distances and speeds so far above any meaningful human experience, it seemed like nothing should matter. He should be agreeing that he hadn't been there when God made the mountains, whether it meant the ones on Earth or on Ganymede or somewhere farther out in the darkness. He was in a tiny metal-and-ceramic box that was exchanging matter for energy to throw a half dozen primates across a vacuum larger than millions of oceans. Compared to that, how could anything matter? ~ James S.A. Corey

The bunk was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted. In three walls there were small, square windows, and in the fourth a solid door with a wooden latch. Against the walls were eight bunks, five of them made up with blankets and the other three showing their burlap ticking. Over each bunk there was nailed an apple-box with the opening forward so that it made two shelves for the personal belongings of the occupant of the bunk. And these shelves were loaded with little articles, soap and talcum-powder, razors and those Western magazines ranch-men love to read and scoff at and secretly believe. And there were medicines on the shelves, and little vials, combs; and, from nails on the box-sides, a few neck-ties. Near one wall there was a black cast-iron stove, its stove-pipe going straight up through the ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a big square table littered with playing-cards, and around it were grouped boxes for the players to sit on. ~ John Steinbeck

We had pale yellow tile in our bathroom rimmed with thin tiles of white. I'd dumped Tack's old, mismatched towels and added new, thick emerald green ones. They were hanging on the towel rack.
My eyes moved.
My moisturizer and toner bottles were the deep hued color of moss. My toothbrush was bright pink, Tack's was electric blue. There was a little bowl by the tap where I tossed my jewelry when I was washing my hands or preparing for bed. It was ceramic painted in glossy sunshine yellow and grass green. My eyes went to the mirror. My undies were cherry red lace.
I grinned at myself in the mirror.
I lived in color, every day, and my life was vibrant.
I rubbed in moisturizer hoping our baby got his or her Dad's sapphire blue eyes.
But I'd settle if they were my green. ~ Kristen Ashley

GENERAL RAGINSKY: Mr. President, in order to exhaust fully the presentation of evidence in regard to the subject-matter of my report, I ask your permission to examine witness Josif Abgarovitch Orbeli - Tatiana dropped the cup of tea she was drinking, and it fell on the tile floor and broke, and Tatiana fell on the floor, too, on her knees, and began to pick up the pieces, every moment or so emitting cries of such distress that Vikki, who was nearby, jumped up, backed away and said in a stunned voice, "What's wrong with you?" Tatiana waved her off with one hand, her other hand holding a ceramic shard which covered her mouth as she continued to listen to the bare echo that was the radio broadcast as it ceaselessly continued. A crash on the road, but the radio still plays music, still transmits sounds no matter how incongruous it is that the ear can somehow hear, that the brain can somehow listen - ~ Paullina Simons

There are people like Senhor José everywhere, who fill their time, or what they believe to be their spare time, by collecting stamps, coins, medals, vases, postcards, matchboxes, books, clocks, sport shirts, autographs, stones, clay figurines, empty beverage cans, little angels, cacti, opera programmes, lighters, pens, owls, music boxes, bottles, bonsai trees, paintings, mugs, pipes, glass obelisks, ceramic ducks, old toys, carnival masks, and they probably do so out of something that we might call metaphysical angst, perhaps because they cannot bear the idea of chaos being the one ruler of the universe, which is why, using their limited powers [...], they attempt to impose some order on the world, and for a short while they manage it, but only as long as they are there to defend their collection, because when the day comes when it must be dispersed, and that day always comes, either with their death or when the collector grows weary, everything goes back to its beginnings, everything returns to chaos. ~ Jose Saramago

When you break something, is your first impulse to throw it away? Or do you repair it but feel a sadness because it is no longer "perfect"? Whatever the case, you might want to consider the way the Japanese treated the items used in their tea ceremony. Even though they were made from the simplest materials... these teacups and bowls were revered for their plain lines and spiritual qualities. There were treated with the utmost care, integrity and respect.

For this reason, a cup from the tea ceremony was almost never broken. When an accident did occur and a cup was broken, there were certain instances in which the cup was repaired with gold.

Rather than trying to restore it in a what they would cover the gace that it ahad been broken, the cracks were celebrated in a bold and spirited way. The thin paths of shining gold completely encircled the ceramic cup, announcing to the world that the cup was broken and repaired and vulnerable to change.

And in this way, its value was even further enhanced. ~ Gary Thorp

The Sentinel of Rain
I am a creature who cooks on roofs,
sleeps on roofs, livess on roofs.
The unenlightened call me homeless;
my inner circle know me as 'The Sentinel of Rain'.
I know all there is to know about roofs:
copper roofing, itchy;
aluminium sheeting, noisy;
precast concrete; dusty;
ceramic tiles; slippery.
I haven't had the pleasure of crashing
on banana leave or straw roofs
but I imagine them to be quite comfy,
though pitched a bit steep to saunter about,
and as for cooking dinner on, fuhgeddaboudit!
Those roofs are as flammable as a cellulose nitrate
print of The Blue Angel.
Thank God I wasn't born in Southeast Asia or in the backward
English countryside with their thatch roof cottages.
It's good to be homeless in America.
There are so many roof choices,
the streets are virtually paved with dumpsters,
stocked to the gills like the shelves of Walmart,
and when it rains ~ and I'm the first to know,
there's never an overpass too far
to shelter me from nature's whims. ~ Beryl Dov

At least she was good at archaeology, she mused, even if she was a dismal failure as a woman in Tate's eyes.
"She's been broody ever since we got here," Leta said with pursed lips as she glanced from Tate to Cecily. "You two had a blowup, huh?" she asked, pretending innocence.
Tate drew in a short breath. "She poured crab bisque on me in front of television cameras."
Cecily drew herself up to her full height. "Pity it wasn't flaming shish kebab!" she returned fiercely.
Leta moved between them. "The Sioux wars are over," she announced.
"That's what you think," Cecily muttered, glaring around her at the tall man.
Tate's dark eyes began to twinkle. He'd missed her in his life. Even in a temper, she was refreshing, invigorating.
She averted her eyes to the large grass circle outlined by thick corded string. All around it were make-shift shelters on poles, some with canvas tops, with bales of hay to make seats for spectators. The first competition of the day was over and the winners were being announced. A woman-only dance came next, and Leta grimaced as she glanced from one warring face to the other. If she left, there was no telling what might happen.
"That's me," she said reluctantly, adjusting the number on her back. "Got to run. Wish me luck."
"You know I do," Cecily said, smiling at her.
"Don't disgrace us," Tate added with laughter in his eyes.
Leta made a face at him, but smiled. "No fighting," she said, shaking a fin ~ Diana Palmer

Most of what we got was crockery: from exotic crystal bowls to ceramic anomalies. Then, a cross-section of rugs- from a beautiful Kashmiri original to a memorable one with printed dragons and utterly incomprehensible hieroglyphics. Dibyendu (typically) gave us a scrabble set and Runai Maashi: that rocking chair. Yuppie work friends, trying to be unique and aesthetically offbeat, went for wind-chimes but there were really far too many of them by the end. We also got a fantastic number of white and off-white kurtas, jamdani sarees with complementary blouses, no less than nine suitcases, suit pieces, imported condoms, bed-sheets, bed-covers, coffee makers, coffee tables, coffee-table books, poetry books, used gifts (paintings of sunsets and other disasters), three nights and four days in Darjeeling, along with several variations of Durga, Ganesh and all the usual suspects in ivory, china, terracotta, papier-mâché, and what have you. Someone gave us a calendar that looking back, I think, was laudably sardonic. Others gave us money, in various denominations: from eleven to five hundred and one. And in one envelope, came a letter for her that she read in tears in the bathroom.'
('Left from Dhakeshwari') ~ Kunal Sen

Did you learn the rotation of the border patrols?' said Laurent.

'Yes, our scouts found - '

Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton.

Damen dropped the pitcher.

It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor.

Laurent's arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him.

'You're wearing Akielon clothing,' said Damen.

'Everyone's wearing Akielon clothing,' said Laurent.

Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table.

'Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we'll know when to approach,' said Laurent.

Laurent sat down.

'We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.'

It was even shorter sitting down.

'Damen.'

'Yes. Sorry,' said Damen. And then: 'What were you saying? ~ C.S. Pacat

Now into the small ceramic pan I grate the block of couverture. Almost at once the scent rises, the dark and loamy scent of bitter chocolate from the block. At this concentration it is slow to melt; the chocolate is very low in fat, and I will have to add butter and cream to the mixture to bring it to truffle consistency. But now it smells of history; of the mountains and forests of South America' of felled wood and spilled sap and campfire smoke. It smells of incense and patchouli; of the black gold of the Maya and the red gold of the Aztec; of stone and dust and of a young girl with flowers in her hair and a cup of pulque in her hand.
It is intoxicating; as it melts, the chocolate becomes glossy; steam rises from the copper pan, and the scent grows richer, blossoming into cinnamon and allspice and nutmeg; dark undertones of anise and espresso; brighter notes of vanilla and ginger. Now it is almost melted through. A gentle vapor rises from the pan. Now we have the true Theobroma, the elixir of the gods in volatile form, and in the steam I can almost see-
A young girl dancing with the moon. A rabbit follows at her heels. Behind her stands a woman with her head in shadow, so that for a moment she seems to look three ways-
But now the steam is getting too thick. The chocolate must be no warmer than forty-six degrees. Too hot, and the chocolate will scorch and streak. Too cool, and it will bloom white and dull. I know by the scent and the level of steam that we ar ~ Joanne Harris