Brown Quotes - Page 13

• Best of all she liked his eyes, such a translucent golden brown, and so laughing.

  Colleen McCullough

  Eye, Laughing, Golden

  Colleen McCullough (2015). “The Ladies of Missalonghi”, p.42, Head of Zeus

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• I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for? Maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. But, probably the truth was that I loved her because she loved me. To her I was the ideal man: brains, pluck. And there was none dressed better. I remember once, when I first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: 'Oh, Hermann...." It was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe.

  Vladimir Nabokov

  Eye, Men, Hair

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• Do you know what I am going to tell you, he said with his wry mouth, a pint of plain is your only man. Notwithstanding this eulogy, I soon found that the mass of plain porter bears an unsatisfactory relation to its toxic content and I subsequently became addicted to brown stout in bottle, a drink which still remains the one that I prefer the most despite the painful and blinding fits of vomiting which a plurality of bottles has often induced in me.

  Flann O'Brien

  Men, Eulogy, Toxic

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• Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. (Benedick, from Much Ado About Nothing)

  William Shakespeare

  Littles, Like Her, Praise

  1598 Benedick, of Hero. Much Ado About Nothing, act1, sc.1, l.166-7.

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• They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks, Turkish cigarettes and the lassitude that comes from "lass." "No, no, don't," she said, I must wash, quick-quick, Ada must wash; but for yet another immortal moment they stood embraced in the hushed avenue, enjoying as they had never enjoyed before, the "happy-forever" feeling at the end of never-ending fairy tales.

  Vladimir Mayakovsky

  Dark, Light, Hair

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• And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhat far across, gloomy, crazy New York was throwing up its cloud of dust and brown steam. There is something brown and holy about the East; and California is white like washlines and emptyheaded - at least that's what I thought then.

  Jack Kerouac

  New York, Crazy, Clouds

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• I picture my epitaph: 'Here lies Paul Newman, who died a failure because his eyes turned brown.

  Paul Newman

  Lying, Eye, Epitaph

  "An actor of true genius, and a man of great decency" by Philip French, www.theguardian.com. September 27, 2008.

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• This morning, Tegus welcomed me again with an arm clasp and cheek touch. I wasn't startled this time, and I breathed in at his neck. How can I describe the scent of his skin? He smells something like cinnamon-- brown and dry and sweet and warm. Ancestors, is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell?

  Shannon Hale

  Sweet, Morning, Eye

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• Listen,” F. Jasmine said. “What I’ve been trying to say is this. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that I am I, and you are you? I am F. Jasmine Addams. And you are Berenice Sadie Brown. And we can look at each other, and touch each other, and stay together year in and year out in the same room. Yet always I am I, and you are you. And I can’t ever be anything else but me, and you can ever be anything else but you. Have you ever thought of that? And does it seem to you strange?

  Carson McCullers

  Years, Trying, Together

  Carson McCullers (1998). “Collected Stories of Carson McCullers”, p.371, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• People talk about the beauty of the spring, but I can't see it. The trees are brown and bare, slimy with rain. Some are crawling with new purple hairs. And the buds are bulging like tumorous acne, and I can tell that something wet, and soft, and cold, and misshapen is about to be born. And I am turning into a vampire.

  Matthew Tobin Anderson

  Spring, Rain, Hair

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• Remember to be gentle with yourself and others. We are all children of chance, and none can say while some fields will blossom and others lay brown beneath the August sun. Care for those around you. Look past your differences. Their dreams are no less than yours, their choices in life no more easily made. And give. Give in any way you can, of whatever you possess. To give is to love. To withhold is to wither. Care less for your harvest than how is shared, and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace.

  Kent Nerburn

  Dream, Children, Heart

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• I read library books as fast as I could go, rushing them home in the basket of my bicycle. From the minute I reached our house, I started to read. Every book I seized on, from “Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Camp Rest-a-While” to “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” stood for the devouring wish to read being instantly granted. I knew this was bliss, knew it at the time. Taste isn’t nearly so important; it comes in its own time.

  Eudora Welty

  Book, Home, Sea

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• A tree may look as beautiful as ever; but when you notice the insects infesting it, and the tips of the branches that are brown from disease, even the trunk seems to lose some of its magnificence.

  Arthur Golden

  Beautiful, Tree, Looks

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• There are brown eyes in the world, after all, as well as blue, and one pair of brown that meant heaven to me as the blue had never done

  E. Nesbit

  Eye, Blue, Heaven

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• The word itself has another color. It’s not a word with any resonance, although the e was once pronounced. There is only the bump now between b and l, the relief at the end, the whew. It hasn’t the sly turn which crimson takes halfway through, yellow’s deceptive jelly, or the rolled-down sound in brown. It hasn’t violet’s rapid sexual shudder or like a rough road the irregularity of ultramarine, the low puddle in mauve like a pancake covered in cream, the disapproving purse to pink, the assertive brevity of red, the whine of green.

  William H. Gass

  Yellow, Color, Green

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• LINUS: Where are you going for Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown? CHARLIE: My father, my mother, Sally, and I are all going to my grandmothers for dinner. SALLY: Do you want to come too, Linus? We can hold hands under the table. LINUS: BLECH!

  Charles M. Schulz

  Mother, Father, Hands

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• The book, if you would see anything in it, requires to be read in the clear, brown, twilight atmosphere in which it was written; if opened in the sunshine, it is apt to look exceedingly like a volume of blank pages.

  Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Book, Twilight, Sunshine

  Nathaniel Hawthorne (2005). “The Portable Hawthorne”, p.122, Penguin

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• The desert seems to be a brown wasteland of dry, prickly scrub whose only purpose is to serve as a setting for the majestic saguaros. Then, little by little, the plants of the desert begin to identify themselves: the porcupiny yucca, the beaver tail and prickly pear and barrel cacti, buckhorn and staghorn and devil's fingers, the tall, sky-reaching tendrils of the ocotillo.

  Jerry Spinelli

  Sky, Devil, Dry

  Jerry Spinelli (2012). “The Stargirl Collection”, p.60, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Hate, Heart, Men

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• A trauma is something one repeats and repeats, after all, and this is the tragedy of the Iqbals--that they can't help but reenact the dash they once made from one land to another, from one faith to another, from one brown mother country into the pale, freckled arms of an imperial sovereign.

  Zadie Smith

  Mother, Country, Land

  Zadie Smith (2003). “White Teeth”, p.136, Vintage

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• It bothered me in a kind of Charles Manson way to have a brown smear of blood on my wall but I also liked it because every time I looked at it I was reminded that I was, at that very moment, not bleeding from my face. And those are powerful words of hope, really.

  Miriam Toews

  Wall, Powerful, Blood

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• Dead fields under a November sky, scattered rose petals brown and turning up at the edges, empty pools scummed with algae, rot, decomposition, dust.

  Stephen King

  Dust, Sky, Rose

  Stephen King (2014). “Pet Sematary”, p.63, Simon and Schuster

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• Lucy: You learn more when you lose Charlie Brown: Well then I must be the smartest person in world!!!

  Charles M. Schulz

  World, Wells, Charlie

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• I am a man" he told her, "and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone woman, and bring me something brown.

  Cassandra Clare

  Men, Gone, Beverages

  Cassandra Clare (2011). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instrument Series (4 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels”, p.1274, Simon and Schuster

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• I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.

  Sara Gruen

  Fall, Writing, Light

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