#imagery

There's so much negative imagery of black fatherhood. I've got tons of friends that are doing the right thing by their kids, and doing the right thing as a father - and how come that's not as newsworthy? ↗

— Will Smith

#come #doing #doing the right thing #father #fatherhood

But the future lay open, a thousand kaleidoscopic possibilities with a small quick heartbeat, delicate and impatient ↗

— Jonathan Safran Foer

#inspirational #pages- #inspirational

As we're bombarded with the imagery that we are and now, post 9-11, it's hard not to get hardened by the world and the amount of violence that's allowed to be shown to kids these days. ↗

— Mark Ruffalo

#amount #bombarded #days #get #hard

Lugh's decided to stick with bein mad at me. It's like traveling with a storm cloud. One of them that hangs low an heavy. The kind that builds an broods an keeps on buildin an brood in till everybody's got a sick headache. ↗

— Moira Young

#imagery #simile #anger

It was her first book, an indigo cover with a silver moonflower, an art nouveau flower, I traced my finger along the silver line like smoke, whiplash curves. ... I touched the pages her hands touched, I pressed them to my lips, the soft thick old paper, yellow now, fragile as skin. I stuck my nose between the bindings and smelled all the readings she had given, the smell of unfiltered cigarettes and the espresso machine, beaches and incense and whispered words in the night. I could hear her voice rising from the pages. The cover curled outward like sails. ↗

— Janet Fitch

#silver #smell #wanting #art

their heart grew cold they let their wings down ↗

— Sappho

#defeat #giving-in #giving-up #imagery #poetry

]Sardis often turning her thoughts here ] you like a goddess and in your song most of all she rejoiced. But now she is conspicuous among Lydian women as sometimes at sunset the rosyfingered moon surpasses all the stars. And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields. And the beautiful dew is poured out and roses bloom and frail chervil and flowering sweetclover. But she goes back and forth remembering gentle Atthis and in longing she bites her tender mind ↗

— Sappho

#imagery #poetry #beauty

]sing to us the one with violets in her lap ]mostly ]goes astray ↗

— Sappho

#imagery #poetry #beauty

John Longridge, the cook at Harley-street, had suffered from low spirits for more than thirty years, and he was quick to welcome Stephen as a newcomer to the freemasonry of melancholy. ↗

— Susanna Clarke

#humor #beauty

There were no stars, or if they were they shone like volcanic glass. ↗

— J.V. Jones

#beauty