notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening
But as I see it, the most corrupt art is the sentimental the art of orange blossoms which make pale women swoon.
Use what you have, use what the world gives you. Use the first day of fall: bright flame before winter's deadness; harvest; orange, gold, amber; cool nights and the smell of fire. Our tree-lined streets are set ablaze, our kitchens filled with the smells of nostalgia: apples bubbling into sauce, roasting squash, cinnamon, nutmeg, cider, warmth itself. The leaves as they spark into wild color just before they die are the world's oldest performance art, and everything we see is celebrating one last violently hued hurrah before the black and white silence of winter.
You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
It's like walking on a 1970 blaze orange shag carpet in a kitchen.
Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity.
Everyone thinks I named my cat Mango because of his orange eyes, but that's not the case. I named him Mango because the sounds of his purrs and his wheezes and his meows are all various shades of yellow-orange.
I got the blues thinking of the future, so I left off and made some marmalade. It's amazing how it cheers one up to shred orange and scrub the floor.
I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.
We are all a little weird. And we like to think that there is always someone weirder. I mean, I am sure some of you are looking at me and thinking, “Well, at least I am not as weird as you,” and I am thinking, “Well, at least I am not as weird as the people in the loony bin,” and the people in the loony bin are thinking, “Well, at least I am an orange”.
Soon to come in licorice, orange, cinnamon, and banana, but not strawberry, because I hate strawberries.
May you and your triple cursed wash water turn purple with orange spots and fall down a bottomless pit!
Blue to get ready Green to go Yellow to guide you through the snow Orange to warn you that over you’ll go Then red will be the final glow Now seek the black, there’s no going back.
It won't hurt you. It's just to kill plants. It's called Agent Orange...and it won't bother humans.
Some people just cannot take certain foods. That's all. People are allergic. Some people are allergic to orange juice, can you imagine? Orange juice is very healthy isn't it? Yet some people cannot drink it without having an allergic reaction.
Mixing in some rusty oranges is a warm way to update your place for fall.
Being from Orange County is in a lot ways very much like being from the Midwest.
Hollywood is a great place if you're an orange.
Her nakedness was not absolute, for like Manet's _Olympia__, behind her ear she had a poisonous flower with orange petals, and she also wore a gold bangle on her right wrist and a necklace of tiny pearls. I imagined I would never see anything more exciting for as long as I lived, and today I can confirm that I was right.
Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.
I grew, a happy, healthy child in a bright world of illustrated books, clean sand, orange trees, friendly dogs, sea vistas and smiling faces.
Years go by Will I still be waiting For somebody else to understand Years go by If I'm stripped of my beauty And the orange clouds Raining in head Years go by Will I choke on my tears Till finally there is nothing left One more casualty You know we're too easy Easy Easy
September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.
Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers.
I always wanted to be a Californian. In my wildest dreams, I always liked California - it's the place where oranges grows on trees! Fruit just falls off the trees.
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