Ochre Famous Quotes & Sayings
42 Ochre Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
He was looking at Mr. Nancy, an old black man with a pencil moustache, in his check sports jacket and his lemon yellow gloves, riding a carousel lion as it rose and lowered, high in the air; and, at the same time, in the same place, he saw a jeweled spider as high as a horse, its eyes an emerald nebula, strutting, staring down at him; and simultaneously he was looking at an extraordinarily tall man with teak colored skin and three sets of arms, wearing a flowing ostrich-feather headdress, his face painted with red stripes, riding an irritated golden lion, two of his six hands holding on tightly to the beast's mane; and he was also seeing a young black boy, dressed in rags, his left foot all swollen and crawling with black flies; and last of all, and behind all these things, Shadow was looking at a tiny brown spider, hiding under a withered ochre leaf. Shadow saw all these things, and he knew they were the same thing.— Neil Gaiman
The ochre-yellow linoleum floor hasn't been scrubbed for some time; splotches of dirt bloom on it like grey pressed flowers.— Margaret Atwood
Maple leaves in autumn do not suddenly transform into stained glass pendants ... in order to satisfy a human longing for beauty. Their scarlet, ochre, and golden colors emerge as chlorophyll production shuts down, in preparation for sacrificing the leaves that are vulnerable to winter cold, and ensuring the survival of the tree. But the tree survives, WHILE our vision is ravished. The peacock's display attracts a hen, AND it nourishes the human eye. The flower's fragrance entices a pollinator, BUT IT ALSO intoxicates the gardener. In that "while," in that "and," in that "but it also," we find the giftedness of life.— Terryl L. Givens
Give me some mud off a city crossing, some ochre out of a gravel pit and a little whitening and some coal dust and I will paint you a luminous picture if you give me time to gradate my mud and subdue my dust.— John Ruskin
There are some arenas so corrupt that the only clean acts possible are nihilistic.— Richard K. Morgan
Julian presented the food. A fillet of sea bass with perfect griddle marks and a scattering of fennel picked from a nearby hedgerow. There were caramelized carrots, baby la ratte potatoes and a garnish of roasted tomatoes that had made a brief appearance in a painting that afternoon.— Red Ochre Press
Painting it was hard graft ... in addition red, yellow, brown ochre, black, terra sienna, bistre, and the result is a red-brown that varies from bistre to deep wine-red and to pale, blond reddish ...— Vincent Van Gogh
It is my conviction that when events are forgotten, buried in the cellar of the page, they are no longer even history.— Katherine Ann Porter
The sky over London was glorious, ochre and madder, as though a dozen tropic suns were simultaneously setting round the horizon ... Everywhere the shells sparkled like Christmas baubles.— Evelyn Waugh
I am a simple man and I use simple materials: Ivory Black, Vermilion, Prussian Blue, Yellow Ochre, Flake White and no medium. That's all I've ever used in my paintings.— L. S. Lowry
Martyrs of a sort they were, these children, along with the town drunk, in his basketball sneakers and buttonless overcoat, draining blackberry brandy from a paper bag as he sat on his bench in Kazmierczak Square, risking nightly death by exposure; martyrs too of a sort were the men and women hastening to adulterous trysts, risking disgrace and divorce for their fix of motel love - all sacrificing the outer world to the inner, proclaiming with this priority that everything solid-seeming and substantial is in fact a dream, of less account than a merciful rush of feeling.— John Updike
He had used drugs and nanonic supplements to compensate at first, then supplements became replacements, with bones exchanged for carbon-fibre struts. Electrical consumption supplanted food intake. The final transition was his skin, replacing the eczema-ridden epidermis with a smooth ochre silicon membrane. Warlow didn't need a spacesuit to work in the vacuum, he could survive for over three weeks without a power and oxygen recharge. His facial features had become purely cosmetic, a crude mannequin-like caricature of human physiognomy, although there was an inlet valve at the back of his throat for fluid intake. There was no hair, and he certainly didn't bother with clothes. Sex was something he lost in his fifties.— Peter F. Hamilton
I hate metaphors. That's why my favorite book is Moby Dick. No frou-frou symbolism. Just a good, simple tale about a man who hates an animal.— Ron Swanson
Do you know how when you're moving really fast in a car, and you're looking at the road, you get sick, but if you look at the trees you're fine? She's my trees, man.— Rebecca Timberlake
My palette contains a warm and cool of each primary, plus four modifiers: Yellow Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Blue-Violet and Phthalo Yellow-Green just mix as I go for each painting.— Matt Smith
All things are spiritual. It doesn't matter what you do or who you are or what kind of blue jeans you wear, or whether you wear an ochre robe or whether you're sober or asleep or dreaming. It's all the same.— Frederick Lenz
I'm not a super emotional person, so that's one reason I love acting - it makes me deal with myself in that kind of way.— Aubrey Plaza
The story of Zenia ought to begin when Zenia began. It must have been someplace long ago and distant in space, thinks Tony; someplace bruised, and very tangled. A European print, hand-tinted, ochre-coloured, with dusty sunlight and a lot of bushes in it- bushes with thick leaves and ancient twisted roots, behind which, out of sight in the undergrowth and hinted at only by a boot protruding, or a slack hand, something ordinary but horrifying is taking place.— Margaret Atwood
In order to do what really matters to you, you have to, first of all, know what really matters to you.— Edward Hallowell
Everyone thinks it was because of the snow. And in a way, I suppose that's true.— Gayle Forman
Dust billowed around us, creeping under our loose-tied handkerchiefs and into our noses and mouths. It was fine and silty, red as ochre or the brush-tailed fox,— Paula McLain
Perhaps we painted on our own skin, with ochre and charcoal, long before we painted on stone.— Anne Michaels
The plane touches down on very rough ground: its wheelbarrow wheels bounce and one set of wings rises alarmingly while the other dips. Now the Masai and the plane are converging. It's a magnificent shot: the Masai run, run, run, run; because of the optics it is dreamlike. The little plane bounces, shudders, slews and finally makes lasting contact with the ground. At exactly the right moment, as the plane comes to a halt, the Masai warriors, in a highly agitated state, reach the plane, and the camera closes on the pilot, whose face as he removes his leather flying helmet and goggles, appears just above the bobbing red ochre composition of plaited hair and fat-shone bodies. It is Mel Gibson, with a grave expression, which can't quite suppress his unruly Aussieness.— Justin Cartwright
Clothes can have a very refined vibration. An ochre robe can be extremely refined and so can a wonderful satin gown or a silk brocade coast.— Frederick Lenz
To see a tree in Winter is to see it for what it really is. A Winter tree is an object so intricate and so perplexing that if it hadn't already; been decided that Winter trees were plain and boring, we would be spending hours pondering them, staring at them in astonishment.— Vivian Swift
Listening to liberals invoke the sanctity of "science" to promote their crackpot ideas creates the same uneasy feeling as listening to Bill Clinton cite Scripture.— Ann Coulter
Where is it written that houses must be beige? Any dun colored house would look better if painted pineapple, cream, ochre, or even a smart sage.— Frances Mayes
A man can be beautiful, I see that now. It's not just a woman's term, not a word reserved for romantic, virtuous, elegant things. I don't think beauty is neat anymore. It's unordered. It's unbrushed hair and a torn back pocket. It's bright and strange and lovely, and if I were to paint him, I'd use all the warm colours - ochre, gold, plum, terracotta, scarlet, burnt orange. I want him to see me as I saw him then, I want him to find me alone at the end of the day with the sun in my hair. I want his heart to buckle, too. I want him to stop someone out in the square and say, who's that? Do you know her? Where is she from?"— Susan Fletcher
- from Eve Green's mother's account.
"It is written on a piece of thin, yellow paper, and is folded in half. I like this account. I like it because it's true, she's right. We all want out lovers to see us that way - unaware, natural, serene. We want to change their world with one glance, to stop their breath at the sight of us.
I stood transfixed, the silence ringing in my ears. From the field of wild grasses; cocksfoot, tufted hair, wild oat, tall fescue, reed canary and perennial rye, their subtle shades of green, ochre and pink softly patching and blending in rustling movement, suddenly rose a small flock of starlings that had been feeding quietly unseen among the tall waving stems, the swish of their glossy wings startlingly loud in the stillness of midday. Heat held me captive.— Nell Grey
This was what it meant to live in Botswana; when the rest of the world might work itself into a frenzy of activity, one might still sit, in the space before a house with ochre walls, a mug of bush tea in one's hand, and talk about very small things: headmen in wells, goats and jealousy.— Alexander McCall Smith
Girl, I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me ... my lonely is mine.— Toni Morrison
The world vanished inside a shrieking, whirling ochre haze. Stones and gravel pelted them, drawing flinches from the stallion and grunts of pain from Kalam.— Steven Erikson
We are nearer neighbors to ourselves than the whiteness of snow or the weight of stones are to us: if man does not know himself, how should he know his functions and powers?— Michel De Montaigne
To the one in the skies, this city must look like a scintillating pattern of speckled glows in all directions, like a firecracker going off amid thick darkness. Right now the urban pattern glowing here is in hues of orange, ginger, and ochre. It is a configuration of sparkles, each dot a light lit by someone awake at this hour. From where the Celestial Gaze is situated, from that high above, all these sporadically lit bulbs must seem in perfect harmony, constantly flickering, as if coding a cryptic message to God.— Elif Shafak
Autumn is here— Kamand Kojouri
and I am in love.
My heart has taken residence in my mind.
I pick the crisp ochre leaves
and put them in my pocket.
I am in love.
Voice comes from a moment beyond the alienation of culture, it is heard before there is an "I" to listen to it.— Betsy Wing
It was as if there were no names here, as if there were no words. The desert cleansed everything in its wind, wiped everything away. The men had the freedom of the open spaces in their eyes, their skin was like metal. Sunlight blazed everywhere. The ochre, yellow, gray, white sand, the fine sand shifted, showing the direction of the wind. It covered all traces, all bones. It repelled light, drove away water, life, far from a center that no one could recognize. The men knew perfectly well that the desert wanted nothing to do with them: so they walked on without stopping, following the paths that other feet had already traveled in search of something else.— Jean-Marie G. Le Clezio
My ex calls the ochre winter 'autumn' as we queue to hear dock boys play jazz fugues in velvet dark. - Broken Verses— Kamila Shamsie
Household life is crowded and dusty; life gone forth is wide open ... Suppose I shave off my hair and beard, put on the ochre robe, and go forth from the home life into homelessness.— Gautama Buddha
Autumn comes— Janice Mirikitani
like a buyer of cloth,
her long fingers
touching,
turning orange,
yellow, brown.
taking what she wants,
stretching
the bone taut air.
Her skin crackles beneath
our feet.
I didn't think anyone wanted me,
bruises pulled
like a sweater around
my neck.
We talk
in the pore tightening air,
branches bare,
about the girl buried in the chill
of prewinter.
We show each other
our mutilated children
in the guise of women
as autumn plucks
at our lips.
Each color,
blue, black, ochre
popping like kisses
on the rib lined flesh,
the puberty soft things.
And we muse
how women
keep bruises
hidden
beneath dead
leaves.
When I learned that near Roussillon there were ochre quarries and mines from which was extracted the ore which produced pigments in all the warm hues of the color wheel, I had a substantial artistic link to this region beyond mere love.— Susan Vreeland
This is very unprofessional, but at 'The Toxic Avenger,' Demond Green, Matt Saldivar and I had a contest to see who could say the word 'ochre' the most times during the show. Well, I had a song called 'Choose Me Oprah,' so I just said ochre instead of Oprah the whole time.— Sara Chase
