Brown Quotes - Page 19

• There is no good talking to him," said a Dragon-fly, who was sitting on the top of a large brown bulrush; "no good at all, for he has gone away." "Well, that is his loss, not mine," answered the Rocket. "I am not going to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention. I like hearing myself talk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying." "Then you should definitely lecture on Philosophy," said the Dragon-fly.

  Oscar Wilde

  Clever, Philosophy, Loss

  Oscar Wilde, Isobel Murray (1998). “Complete Shorter Fiction”, p.134, Oxford University Press, USA

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• He was tall, one of the tallest men she had ever seen. Dressed in jeans, boots and a cotton shirt. Thick black hair grew rakishly long, falling over the collar of his shirt. Intense brown eyes, almost the color of amber, surveyed the diner slowly before coming back to her. Electricity sizzled in the air then, as though invisible currents connected them, forcing her to recognize him on a primitive level. Not that she wouldn’t take notice anyway. He was power, strength, and so incredibly male that her breath caught at the sight of him.

  Lora Leigh

  Fall, Eye, Men

  Lora Leigh (2018). “Elizabeth's Wolf”, p.34, Penguin

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• His eyes were cold and brown - like coffee stains.

  Markus Zusak

  Coffee, Eye, Cold

  Markus Zusak (2014). “Markus Zusak: The Book Thief & I Am the Messenger”, p.19, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• “Run,” he whispered. “Run.” “No, Rand,” I said, brushing the dirt from his face. “I’m tired of running.” “Forgive me, please.” He clutched my hand as his eyes beseeched me through tears of pain. “You’re forgiven.” He sighed once, then stopped breathing. The shine in his brown eyes dulled. I pulled his hood over his head.

  Maria V. Snyder

  Running, Pain, Tired

  "Poison Study". Book by Maria V. Snyder, October 2005.

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• The trees bathed their great heads in the waves of the morning, while their roots were planted deep in gloom; save where on the borders of the sunshine broke against their stems, or swept in long streams through their avenues, washing with brighter hue all the leaves over which it flowed; revealing the rich brown of the dacayed leaves and fallen pine-cones, and the delicate greens of the long grasses and tiny forests of moss that covered the channel over which it passed in the motionless rivers of light.

  George MacDonald

  Morning, Sunshine, Light

  George Macdonald (2013). “The Princess Treasury”, p.341, Simon and Schuster

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• My Albert married his Maisie Brown as he said he would. But I think she never took to me, nor I to her for that matter. Perhaps it was a feeling of mutual jealousy.

  Michael Morpurgo

  Thinking, Feelings, Matter

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• It always amazes me to look at the little, wrinkled brown seeds and think of the rainbows in 'em," said Captain Jim. "When I ponder on them seeds I don't find it nowise hard to believe that we've got souls that'll live in other worlds. You couldn't hardly believe there was life in them tiny things, some no bigger than grains of dust, let alone colour and scent, if you hadn't seen the miracle, could you?

  Lucy Maud Montgomery

  Believe, Thinking, Dust

  Lucy Maud Montgomery (2016). “L. M. MONTGOMERY – Premium Collection: Novels, Short Stories, Poetry & Autobiography (Including Anne Shirley Novels, Chronicles of Avonlea & The Story Girl Series): Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Anne's House of Dreams, Rainbow Valley, The Golden Road, Kilmeny of the Orchard, The Watchman, Songs of the Sea & many more”, p.757, e-artnow

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• A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage.

  Suzanne Collins

  Hair, Years, Volunteer

  Suzanne Collins (2011). “The Hunger Games: Catching Fire”, p.150, Scholastic

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• For reasons he couldn’t understand a sadness came over him and it was then he saw the girl standing on the other side of the dirt road, her eyes pools of absolute sorrow, her light brown hair glowing in the splinters of sunlight that forced their way through the trees.

  Melina Marchetta

  Girl, Sadness, Eye

  Melina Marchetta (2010). “Jellicoe Road”, p.31, Harper Collins

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• When she fell asleep, she dreamed of death-- not just for her, not just for her species, but for every living thing she had ever known. The earth was flat and brown, a field of dirt as barren as the moon, a single road stretching in the distance. the last to fall were the buildings, distant and solemn, the gravestones for an entire world. Then they disappeared, and there was nothing left but nothing.

  Dan Wells

  Distance, Fall, Moon

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• He had had a severe shock some weeks earlier, when, having narrowly failed to capture a large grey-brown hare for his dinner, it had stopped at the edge of the forest, looked at him with disdain, and said, 'Well, I hope you're proud of yourself, that's all,' and had scampered off into the long grass

  Neil Gaiman

  Long Grass, Forests, Proud

  Neil Gaiman (2007). “Neil Gaiman and Charles Vess's Stardust: Being a Romance Within the Realms of Faerie”, Vertigo

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• My fatal flaw is hubris. The brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches? No, seaweed brain. That's hummus. Hubris is worse. What could be worse than hummus?

  Rick Riordan

  Brain, Sandwiches, Stuff

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• He had the prettiest hair she had ever seen on a man: dark brown, almost black, and soft like sable, it fell down to his shoulders. She wondered what he'd do if she threw some mud in it. Probably kill her.

  Ilona Andrews

  Dark, Men, Hair

  Ilona Andrews (2010). “Bayou Moon”, p.47, NYLA

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• It's too early for there to be any coffee. I stare dully at the empty pot in the common room, while Sam picks up a jar of instant grounds. "Don't," I warn him. He scoops up a heaping spoonful and, heedlessly, shovels it into his mouth. It crunches horribly. Then his eyes go wide. "Dry," he croaks. "Tongue...shriveling." I shake my head, picking up the jar. "It's dehydrated. You're supposed to add water. Good thing you're mostly made of water." He tries to say something. Brown powder dusts his shirt. "Also," I tell him, "that's decaf.

  Holly Black

  Coffee, Eye, Dust

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• We all make mistakes. Luckily for us, there are very few mistakes that cant be solved with a suitable application of either lipstick or hand grenades" - Frances Brown

  Mira Grant

  Mistake, Hands, France

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• A bear! A bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!

  George R. R. Martin

  Hair, Black, Bears

  George R. R. Martin (2003). “A Storm of Swords: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Three”, p.103, Bantam

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• Somewhere, things must be beautiful and vivid. Somewhere else, life has to be beautiful and vivid and rich. Not like this muted palette -a pale blue bedroom, washed out sunny sky, dull green yellow brown of the fields. Here, I know ever twist of every road, every blade of grass, every face in this town, and I am suffocating.

  Lisa Ann Sandell

  Beautiful, Blue, Somewhere Else

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• What colors are the eyes of Anubis?" "Brown...Duh.

  Rick Riordan

  Eye, Color, Anubis

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• In the Duat, Anubis looked as he always had, with his tousled dark hair and lovely brown eyes, but I’d never seen him filled with such rage. I realized that anyone who dared to hurt me would suffer his full wrath, and Walt wasn’t going to hold him back.

  Rick Riordan

  Hurt, Eye, Dark

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• You once said to me that I talk like a man in a book. I not only talk, but think and feel like one. I have spent my life in books; literature has deeply dyed my brain its own colour. This literary colouring is a protective one--like the brown of the rabbit or the checks of the quail--making it impossible for me to tell where literature ends and I begin.

  Nathanael West

  Book, Men, Thinking

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• Will’s hand looked brown and sunburnt by contrast, their fingers dovetailed together like piano keys.

  Cassandra Clare

  Keys, Hands, Piano

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• No one else noticed, or cared. It was just something they did. Taking other people’s livestock. Other people’s lives. She watched the soldiers, hating them. They were different in so many ways, white and black, yellow and brown, skinny, short, tall, small, but they were all the same. Didn’t matter if they wore finger-bone necklaces, or baby teeth on bracelets, or tattoos on their chests to ward off bullets. In the end, they were all mangled with battle scars and their eyes were all dead.

  Paolo Bacigalupi

  Tattoo, Baby, Hate

  Paolo Bacigalupi (2012). “The Drowned Cities: Number 2 in series”, p.39, Hachette UK

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• Her eyes, walnut brown and shaded by fanned lashes, met mine. Held for a moment. Flew away.

  Khaled Hosseini

  Eye, Moments, Flew

  Khaled Hosseini (2010). “The Complete Khaled Hosseini: Digital box set”, p.67, A&C Black

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• [Tyson] looked him over with that massive baby-brown eye. “You are not dead. I like it when you are not dead.” Ella fluttered to the ground and began preening her feathers. “Ella found a dog,” she announced. “A large dog. And a Cyclops.” Was she blushing? Before Percy could decide, his black mastiff pounced on him, knocking Percy to the ground and barking so loudly that even Arion backed up. “Hey, Mrs. O'Leary,” Percy said. “Yeah, I love you, too, girl. Good dog.” Hazel squeaked. “You have a hellhound named Mrs. O'Leary?” “Long story.

  Rick Riordan

  Girl, Dog, Baby

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• When the guy turned around, Amy began stuttering. Silently. It was a feat only Amy could manage, and only Dan could notice. And it only happened in front of boys who looked like this one. He had brown hair and caramel-colored eyes, like Dan's friend Nick Santos, who made all the sixth-grade girls turn into blithering idiots when he looked their way--in fact, would even say Watch, lean make them turn into blithering idiots, and then he'd do it. Only older. "He. Is. Hot," Nellie said under her breath. "You too?" Dan hissed.

  Peter Lerangis

  Girl, Eye, Boys

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