#descriptive

Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees—he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder. ↗

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

#gorgeous #romantic #romantic

This womens skin is shimmering and pale, her long black hair is tied with dozens of silver ribbons that fall over her shoulders. Her gown is white, covered in what to Bailey looks like looping black embroidery, but as he walks closer he sees that the black marks are actually words written across the fabric. When he is near enough to read parts of the gown, he realizes that they are love letters, inscribed in handwritten text. Words of desire and longing wrapping around her waist, flowing down the train of her gown as it spills over the platform. The statue herself is still, but her hand is held out and only then does Bailey notice the young woman with a red scarf standing in front of her, offering the love letter-clad statue a sungle crimson rose. The movement is so subtle that it is almost undetectable, but slowly, very, very slowly, the statue reaches to accept the rose. Her fingers open, and the young woman with the rose waits patiently as the statue gradually closes her hand around the stem, releasing it only when it is secure. ....The statue is lifting the rose, gradually, to her face. Her eye lids slowly close. ↗

— Erin Morgenstern

#descriptive #beauty

The moon hung heavy over the lake like an overripe orange, trickling its golden stream of light across inky depths. ↗

— Julie Lessman

#descriptive-prose #beauty

Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#descriptive #flying #prose #writing #description

Air grew heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. ↗

— Khaled Hosseini

#descriptive #khaled #scared #description

After a week he was moved to a different wing and into a shared six-by-eight with a grizzled old con called Alf. He had faded tattoos that stained most of the visible skin on his hands, arms and neck a dull blue, sharp eyes and a thick beard that made his mouth look like an axe wound on a bear. ↗

— R.D. Ronald

#prison #prisoner #description

If Art relates itself to an Object, it becomes descriptive, divisionist, literary. ↗

— Robert Delaunay

#becomes #descriptive #itself #literary #object

The great art of films does not consist of descriptive movement of face and body but in the movements of thought and soul transmitted in a kind of intense isolation. ↗

— Louise Brooks

#body #consist #descriptive #does #face

hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon. ↗

— Khaled Hosseini

#descriptive-writing #love-of-home #home

...because of the foulness of her mother's emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning... ↗

— Tamara Rose Blodgett

#descriptive-prose #dystopia #from-review #paranormal-romance #post-apocalyptic