Beige Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
it-would-be-much-easier-to-just-make-black-brown-beige-clothes-but-i-do-not-see-world-in-black-white-beige-i-find-colors-incredibly-important-jean-pigozzi
beige-curtains-theres-nothing-wrong-with-them-youre-not-like-ew-gross-beige-curtains-you-just-dont-notice-them-either-way-theyre-just-like-fine
beige-is-color-indecision-paula-scher
at-first-sight-acropolis-its-beige-my-color-elsie-de-wolfe
what-really-grabs-me-about-living-in-tucson-is-color-beige
i-love-color-im-not-beige-kind-girl-christina-aguilera
in-my-experience-vegan-food-it-tends-to-be-symphony-beige-jay-rayner
there-was-perception-that-life-here-wasi-wont-say-gray-thats-hard-for-mebut-beige-hanna-holborn-gray
after-im-famous-i-want-my-statue-to-be-made-out-beige-jello-i-want-to-be-portrayed-naked-my-genitals-jiggle-in-wind-jarod-kintz
every-season-has-its-lipstick-trend-just-because-your-perfect-color-is-pinky-beige-that-doesnt-mean-you-cant-wear-deep-burgundy-bobbi-brown
i-always-wear-beige-black-white-for-one-thing-i-look-good-in-them-for-another-when-im-beside-star-at-fitting-she-looks-into-mirror-i-dont-want-to-be-competing-in-any-way
its-important-to-maintain-attractive-smile-as-you-age-a-lighter-less-beige-more-white-tooth-color-is-key-but-no-chiclets-evelyn-lauder
where-is-it-written-that-houses-must-be-beige-any-dun-colored-house-would-look-better-if-painted-pineapple-cream-ochre-even-smart-sage-frances-mayes
the-decor-was-attractive-strong-but-blander-than-she-would-have-thought-his-wealth-position-afforded-him-caren-couldnt-see-point-having-that-much-money-if-all-it-led-to-beige-att
the-worst-thing-is-to-have-all-that-clout-not-know-your-own-mind-if-she-says-her-marilyn-monroesfavorite-color-is-beige-that-has-to-be-definite-possibility-then-she-will-be-as-da
im-in-my-junior-year-but-i-cant-take-it-anymore-the-beige-walls-scent-linoleum-used-lockers-shrill-bell-between-classes-high-school-is-sucking-life-out-me-diana-abujaber
my-favorite-colors-come-from-shades-local-earth-dig-in-ground-youll-find-many-layers-coloramazing-yellows-sand-browns-black-beige-axel
sense-of-humor-is-important-in-life-not-just-in-clothing-how-boring-to-live-a-life-in-beige
a-big-percentage-small-scale-construction-is-plastic-but-its-some-horrible-beige-plastic-made-to-look-like-wood
a-big-percentage-smallscale-construction-is-plastic-but-its-some-horrible-beige-plastic-made-to-look-like-wood-greg-lynn
before-me-everything-was-black-navy-blue-gray-brown-beige-things-like-that-for-daytime-i-began-using-shocking-pink-ice-blue-all-kinds-bright-colors-and-i-dyed-furs
i-usually-keep-my-personal-style-simple-streamlined-i-like-classic-colors-like-black-white-beige-white-black-is-my-favorite-color-combination-i-like-to-finish-up-my-look-with-acc
the-lounge-private-terminal-in-delhi-a-place-beige-leather-sofas-cappuccinos-set-deep-in-that-world-where-seeling-modernity-has-yet-to-close-over-land-where-in-empty-spaces-that-
Hester Lipp had written Where the Sidewalk Starts, an inexplicably acclaimed book of memoir, recounting - in severe language and strange, striking imagery - Lipp's childhood and adolescence on a leafy suburban street in Burlington. Her house was large and well-kept, her schooling uneventful, her family - the members of which she described in scrupulous detail - uniformly decent and supportive. Sidewalk was blurbed as a devastatingly honest account of what it meant to grow up middle class in America. Amy, who forced herself to read the whole thing, thought the book devastatingly unnecessary. The New York Times had assigned it to her for a review, and she stomped on it with both feet. Amy's review of Sidewalk was the only mean-spirited review she ever wrote. She had allowed herself to do this, not because she was tired of memoirs, baffled by their popularity, resentful that somehow, in the past twenty years, fiction had taken a backseat to them, so that in order to sell clever, thoroughly imagined novels, writers had been browbeaten by their agents into marketing them as fact. All this annoyed her, but then Amy was annoyed by just about everything. She beat up on Hester Lipp because the woman could write up a storm and yet squandered her powers on the minutiae of a beige conflict-free life. In her review, Amy had begun by praising what there was to praise about Hester's sharp sentences and word-painting talents and then slipped, in three paragraphs, into a full-scale rant about the tyranny of fact and the great advantages, to both writer and reader, of making things up. She ended by saying that reading Where the Sidewalk Starts was like "being frog-marched through your own backyard.

Jincy Willett
hester-lipp-had-written-where-sidewalk-starts-inexplicably-acclaimed-book-memoir-recounting-in-severe-language-strange-striking-imagery-lipps-childhood-adolescence-on-leafy-subur
The Loneliness of the Military Historian Confess: it's my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to dinner, though Lord knows I don't go out of my way to be scary. I wear dresses of sensible cut and unalarming shades of beige, I smell of lavender and go to the hairdresser's: no prophetess mane of mine, complete with snakes, will frighten the youngsters. If I roll my eyes and mutter, if I clutch at my heart and scream in horror like a third-rate actress chewing up a mad scene, I do it in private and nobody sees but the bathroom mirror. In general I might agree with you: women should not contemplate war, should not weigh tactics impartially, or evade the word enemy, or view both sides and denounce nothing. Women should march for peace, or hand out white feathers to arouse bravery, spit themselves on bayonets to protect their babies, whose skulls will be split anyway, or, having been raped repeatedly, hang themselves with their own hair. There are the functions that inspire general comfort. That, and the knitting of socks for the troops and a sort of moral cheerleading. Also: mourning the dead. Sons, lovers and so forth. All the killed children. Instead of this, I tell what I hope will pass as truth. A blunt thing, not lovely. The truth is seldom welcome, especially at dinner, though I am good at what I do. My trade is courage and atrocities. I look at them and do not condemn. I write things down the way they happened, as near as can be remembered. I don't ask why, because it is mostly the same. Wars happen because the ones who start them think they can win. In my dreams there is glamour. The Vikings leave their fields each year for a few months of killing and plunder, much as the boys go hunting. In real life they were farmers. The come back loaded with splendour. The Arabs ride against Crusaders with scimitars that could sever silk in the air. A swift cut to the horse's neck and a hunk of armour crashes down like a tower. Fire against metal. A poet might say: romance against banality. When awake, I know better. Despite the propaganda, there are no monsters, or none that could be finally buried. Finish one off, and circumstances and the radio create another. Believe me: whole armies have prayed fervently to God all night and meant it, and been slaughtered anyway. Brutality wins frequently, and large outcomes have turned on the invention of a mechanical device, viz. radar. True, valour sometimes counts for something, as at Thermopylae. Sometimes being right - though ultimate virtue, by agreed tradition, is decided by the winner. Sometimes men throw themselves on grenades and burst like paper bags of guts to save their comrades. I can admire that. But rats and cholera have won many wars. Those, and potatoes, or the absence of them. It's no use pinning all those medals across the chests of the dead. Impressive, but I know too much. Grand exploits merely depress me. In the interests of research I have walked on many battlefields that once were liquid with pulped men's bodies and spangled with exploded shells and splayed bone. All of them have been green again by the time I got there. Each has inspired a few good quotes in its day. Sad marble angels brood like hens over the grassy nests where nothing hatches. (The angels could just as well be described as vulgar or pitiless, depending on camera angle.) The word glory figures a lot on gateways. Of course I pick a flower or two from each, and press it in the hotel Bible for a souvenir. I'm just as human as you. But it's no use asking me for a final statement. As I say, I deal in tactics. Also statistics: for every year of peace there have been four hundred years of war.

Margaret Atwood
the-loneliness-military-historian-confess-its-my-profession-that-alarms-you-this-is-why-few-people-ask-me-to-dinner-though-lord-knows-i-dont-go-out-my-way-to-be-scary-i-wear-dres
?Earn cash when you save a quote by clicking
EARNED Load...
LEVEL : Load...