Orange Quotes - Page 19

The reason I’m not more political is because I have music. And from a young age, I needed it. After prison, my father came to America, joined the Army, fought in Vietnam - and was exposed to Agent Orange. He died a slow, horrible death. Music was my escape.

Gloria Estefan

Father, Army, America

"Gloria Estefan: 'Like Coming Home, But Not to the Old Cuba'". Interview with Jesse Kornbluth, www.huffingtonpost.com. September 6, 2007.

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Your body, which is bonding millions of molecules every second, depends on transformation. Breathing and digestion harness transformation. Food and air aren’t just shuffled about but, rather, undergo the exact chemical bonding needed to keep you alive. The sugar extracted from an orange travels to the brain and fuels a thought. The emergent property in this case is the newness of the thought; no molecules in the history of the universe ever combined to produce that exact thought.

Deepak Chopra

Spiritual, Air, Breathing

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The 21st chapter gives the novel the quality of genuine fiction, an art founded on the principle that human beings change. ----- "A Clockwork Orange Resucked" intro to first full American version 1986

Anthony Burgess

Art, Giving, Quality

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Do blood clots get stuck in your teeth? What if someone's anemic; are you hungry again an hour later? Has anyone ever bitten you? If you run out of blood, do you shrivel up like a really old orange?

Katie MacAlister

Running, Blood, What If

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Some things just aren't meant to go together. Things like oil and water. Orange juice and toothpaste.

Jim Butcher

Oil And Water, Orange Juice, Together

Jim Butcher (2003). “Death Masks: Book five of The Dresden Files”, p.15, Penguin Group

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Orange? Like Effie's hair?" I say. "A bit more muted," he says. "More like sunset.

Suzanne Collins

Sunset, Hair, Bits

Suzanne Collins (2010). “Catching Fire (The Second Book of the Hunger Games)”, p.52, Scholastic Inc.

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Otrera stayed dead the second time," Kinzie said, batting her eyes. "We have to thank you for that. If you ever need a new girlfriend...well, I think you'd look great in an iron collar and an orange jumpsuit." Percy couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. He politely thanked her and changed seats.

Rick Riordan

Girlfriend, Eye, Thinking

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Last comes the class of persons, of nervous organization and enfeebled vigour, whose sensual appetite craves highly seasoned dishes, men of a hectic, over-stimulated constitution. Their eyes almost invariably hanker after that most irritating and morbid of colours, with its artificial splendours and feverish acrid gleams,-orange.

Joris-Karl Huysmans

Eye, Men, Class

Joris-Karl Huysmans (2015). “Against the Grain: (À rebours)”, p.14, BoD – Books on Demand

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Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding.

Vera Nazarian

Christmas, Dream, Healing

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I was just so sick. I thought that orange juice was going to make me fat.

Demi Lovato

Orange Juice, Sick, Fats

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Why don't you go on west to California? There's work there, and it never gets cold. Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange. Why, there's always some kind of crop to work in. Why don't you go there?

John Steinbeck

California, Goes On, West

John Steinbeck (2016). “The Grapes of Wrath”, p.27, Hamilton Books

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How could anybody confuse truth with beauty, I thought as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkempt. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.

Janet Fitch

Prayer, Eye, Hair

Janet Fitch (2013). “White Oleander”, p.222, Hachette UK

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Happy". I had not heard that word since Mr. Milgrom spoke it at the last Hanukkah. I asked him the question that had been on my mind since then. "Tata, what is happy?" He looked at me and at the ceiling and back to me. "Did you ever taste an orange?" he said.

Jerry Spinelli

Mind, Ceilings, Lasts

Jerry Spinelli (2011). “Milkweed”, p.142, Hachette UK

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Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

Rick Riordan

Song, Curly Hair, Snacks

Rick Riordan (2006). “The lightning thief”

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She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better. What good were the words? She said it audibly now, to the orange-lit room. "What good are the words?

Markus Zusak

Book, Feel Better, Would Be

Markus Zusak (2016). “The Book Thief: 10th Anniversary Edition”, p.387, Random House

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On the morning in question, she wore white shorts and a pink T-shirt that featured a green dragon breathing a fire of orange glitter. It is difficult to explain how awesome I found this T-shirt at the time.

John Green

Morning, Fire, Dragons

John Green (2013). “Paper Towns”, p.4, A&C Black

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A middle-aged woman who looked like someone's cleaning lady, a shrieking adolescent lunatic and a talkshow host with an orange face... It didn't add up. Suicide wasn't invented for people like this. It was invented for people like Virginia Woolf and Nick Drake. And Me. Suicide was supposed to be cool.

Nick Hornby

Suicide, Virginia, People

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Both the five-year-olds looked at me with bewilderment and a bit of fearful uncertainty. I had a sudden horrifying image of the woman I might become if I'm not careful: Crazy Aunt Liz. The divorcee in the muumuu with the dyed orange hair who doesn't eat dairy but smokes menthols, who's always just coming back from her astrology cruise or breaking up with her aroma-therapist boyfriend, who reads the Tarot cards of kindergarteners and says things like, "Bring Aunty Liz another wine cooler, baby, and I'll let you wear my mood ring.

Elizabeth Gilbert

Baby, Crazy, Wine

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People think six is a great many, when it's children. ...they don't mind six pairs of boots, or six pounds of apples, or six oranges, especially in equations, but they seem to think that you ought not to have five brothers and sisters.

E. Nesbit

Brother, Children, Thinking

E. Nesbit (2013). “Delphi Complete Novels of E. Nesbit”, p.77, Delphi Classics

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You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you.

Anton Chekhov

Horse, Lying, Taken

Anton Chekhov (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Anton Chekhov (Illustrated)”, p.2020, Delphi Classics

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What came before has dissolved from me, lost like milk teeth. But I think, rather, that it has always been as it is, and there was never a beforethis nor will there be an afternow. I am accepting. This is not a thing to be solved, or conquered, or destroyed. It is. I am. We are. We conjugate together in darkness, plotting against each other, the Labyrinth to eat me and I to eat it, each to swallow the hard, black opium of the other. We hold orange petals beneath our tongues and seethe. It has always been so. It grinds against me and I bite into its skin.

Catherynne M. Valente

Thinking, Darkness, Labyrinth

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With blue vinyl-tile floor, pale-green wainscoating, pink walls, a yellow ceiling, and orange-and-white stork-patterned drapes, the expectant fathers' lounge churned with the negative energy of color overload. It would have served well as the nervous-making set for a nightmare about a children's-show host who led a secret life as an ax murderer. The chain-smoking clown didn't improve the ambience.

Dean Koontz

Children, Wall, Father

Dean Koontz (2007). “Life Expectancy”, p.8, Bantam

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Where do I come into all of this? Am I just some animal or dog?' And that started them off govoreeting real loud and throwing slovos at me. So I creeched louder still, creeching: 'Am I just to be like a clockwork orange?

Anthony Burgess

Dog, Real, Animal

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No Difference Small as a peanut, Big as a giant, We're all the same size When we turn off the light. Rich as a sultan, Poor as a mite, We're all worth the same When we turn off the light. Red, black or orange, Yellow or white, We all look the same When we turn off the light. So maybe the way, To make everything right Is for god to just reach out And turn off the light!

Shel Silverstein

Light, Yellow, White

Shel Silverstein, “No Difference”

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When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice.

Anne Michaels

Gratitude, Sweet, Book

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