Silvery 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
the-ground-was-silvery-as-if-some-stars-had-fallen-there-heather-oneill
once-i-saw-you-in-moonlight-i-can-tell-you-silvery-dust-stars-doesnt-shimmer-like-you-john-geddes
whilst-breezy-waves-toss-up-their-silvery-spray-thomas-hood
because-there-were-all-kinds-of-hell-some-were-black-and-dirty-and-some-were-silvery-and-high
be-light-silvery-moon-be-blessed-breeze-be-one-who-will-do-what-thou-wilt-who-will-do-as-you-please-fruit-bats
be-soft-in-your-practice-think-method-as-fine-silvery-stream-not-raging-waterfall-shengyen
It was while gliding through these latter waters that one serene and moonlight night, when all the waves rolled by like scrolls of silver; and, by their soft, suffusing seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude; on such a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the bow. Lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea. Fedallah first descried this jet. For of these moonlight nights, it was his wont to mount to the main-mast head, and stand a look-out there, with the same precision as if it had been day. And yet, though herds of whales were seen by night, not one whaleman in a hundred would venture a lowering for them. You may think with what emotions, then, the seamen beheld this old Oriental perched aloft at such unusual hours; his turban and the moon, companions in one sky. But when, after spending his uniform interval there for several successive nights without uttering a single sound; when, after all this silence, his unearthly voice was heard announcing that silvery, moon-lit jet, every reclining mariner started to his feet as if some winged spirit had lighted in the rigging, and hailed the mortal crew. 'There she blows!' Had the trump of judgment blown, they could not have quivered more; yet still they felt no terror; rather pleasure. For though it was a most unwonted hour, yet so impressive was the cry, and so deliriously exciting, that almost every soul on board instinctively desired a lowering.

Herman Melville
it-was-while-gliding-through-these-latter-waters-that-one-serene-moonlight-night-when-all-waves-rolled-by-like-scrolls-silver-by-their-soft-suffusing-seethings-made-what-seemed-s
i-closed-my-eyes-during-flute-solo-wishing-i-could-wrap-silvery-sound-around-me-like-armor-jodi-meadows
we-tap-our-toes-to-chaste-love-songs-about-silvery-moon-without-recognizing-them-as-hymns-to-copulation-barbara-kingsolver
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and-stately-lilies-stand-fair-in-silvery-light-like-saintly-vestals-pale-in-prayer-their-pure-breath-sanctifies-air-as-its-fragrance-fills-night-julia-caroline-dorr
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jem-looked-from-will-to-tessa-raised-his-silvery-eyebrows-a-miracle-he-said-you-got-him-to-speak-just-to-shout-at-me-really-said-tessa-not-quite-loaves-fishes-cassandra-clare
it-was-smooth-silvery-voice-that-matched-her-hair-it-had-tiny-tinkle-in-it-like-bells-in-dolls-house-i-thought-that-was-silly-as-soon-as-i-thought-it-raymond-chandler
o-pity-dead-that-are-dead-but-cannot-makethe-journey-still-they-moan-beatagainst-silvery-adamant-walls-lifes-exclusive-city-d-h-lawrence
the-city-san-francisco-engulfed-their-view-through-front-windshield-the-dazzling-light-late-morning-sun-transformed-every-glass-metal-surface-into-silvery-mirage-victoria-kahler
dumbledore-watched-her-fly-away-as-her-silvery-glow-faded-he-turned-back-to-snape-his-eyes-were-full-tears-after-all-this-time-always-said-snape-jk-rowling
within-this-raindrop-there-must-be-heart-heart-that-weeps-pain-longing-i-have-her-in-my-palm-where-silvery-rays-morn-reflect-beauty-whole-cosmos-i-kiss-her-with-all-my-yearning-p
the-word-just-hangs-until-severin-starts-blender-theres-only-sound-crunching-grinding-vitamins-silvery-core-nourishment-containing-every-essential-thing-but-nourishment-itself-pg
cogswhallop-glanced-skeptically-at-complex-runes-are-you-sure-thisll-work-genral-of-course-im-sure-ping-the-silvery-note-echoed-in-cramped-room-hilari-bell
all-that-is-carried-along-by-streams-silvery-cascade-rhythmically-falling-from-mountain-carried-by-its-own-current-carried-where-pope-john-paul-ii
the-brothers-hood-fell-back-his-silvery-hair-shone-out-in-dim-chamber-like-starlight-all-air-rushed-out-tessas-lungs-in-single-instant-the-silent-cassandra-clare
the-sun-is-thief-she-lures-sea-robs-it-the-moon-is-thief-he-steals-his-silvery-light-from-sun-the-sea-is-thief-it-dissolves-moon-vladimir-nabokov
He was the most astonishing contradiction of components I'd ever encountered. Shy yet fiercely communicative when putting an idea into your head. Vocally astringent regarding his own abilities but not to the point that he couldn't produce-he was as prolific an artist (yes, an artist, and I never use the term, especially regarding people I like) I've ever seen. But I could feel it. Everything he sketched, penciled, inked, made-was a payment, one he could scarcely afford; as if it physically hurt him to put pencil to paper. Yet that only seemed to spur him on, to live far beyond his means. He was unable not to. For Sketch, to draw was to breath, and so the air became lead-silvery in the right light, dark soot in the wrong; heavy, slick and malleable-into shapes he brought together in glorious orchestration, with a child's eye and a rocket scientist's precision, all fortified by a furious melancholy, a quiet engine of sourceless shame and humility. When it came to another's work, he longed to praise it but then couldn't resist critiquing it all within an inch of its life, analyzing deficiencies with uncontrollable abandon and laser accuracy. He was sharp as his Radio 914 pen nibs, and as pointed. And then he'd apologize. Oh, he would apologize: Oh my GOD, forgive me, please don't hate me, I'm SORRY, don't listen to me, why am I saying things, what do I know, I don't know anything, why do you listen to me you should just tell me to shut UP, I'm awful, forgive me, you hate me, don't you? Tell the truth. Please don't hate me. Please don't. Please.

Chip Kidd
he-was-most-astonishing-contradiction-components-id-ever-encountered-shy-yet-fiercely-communicative-when-putting-idea-into-your-head-vocally-astringent-regarding-his-own-abilitie
Are these black cats like the hare?" "No. They're smaller; they only want me to play with them. Fly away with them to a place on the other side of the moon. There's a garden there, all silvery-gold, and the cats and hares dance and jump round and round. They can jump so much farther than they can on earth; it's like flying, and they love it so. Sometimes I've felt as if I'd like to dance and jump through the air too, they looked so happy, and I've thought maybe if I did I wouldn't be afraid any more, but when I look they're all dancing round a Figure that sits still in the middle of the garden. A big black Figure with a hood on. And It hasn't got any face. Its face is so awful that It keeps it covered. And then I get so terribly afraid. And everything stops." "And you see all that in the picture?" "I don't know." She hesitated again. "I think it's partly dreams. After I've thought they were at the windows - the cats and the big hare. They sit there and watch, you see, after I've gone to sleep. But they don't come often. I don't usually know what's there." She came closer and whispered, her blue eyes earnest and weird, "I don't think it's an animal hare. I think it's Aunt Sarai's hare, that maybe it came from hell. It isn't swearing to say that word just as the name of a place, is it? That's why people used to be so scared of witches' black cats, isn't it, because they thought they weren't earth-cats, they were from the devil? Mother says there isn't any hell or any witches. But Aunt Sarai was a witch; that's why she can come back. I think they've all been witches here; the house is mad because mother wouldn't be; that's why it wants me now." Carew said, "It was all dreams, Betty. There is no hell. There is no garden on the other side of the moon. It's a dead world, full of volcanic craters, with no air for anything to grow in or breathe. A hare frightened you and, being nervous, you've had nightmares about it - pictures that fear paints on your mind just as an artist would on canvas, with paints and brushes. "Every dream is now a movie we make for ourselves in our sleep...

Evangeline Walton
are-these-black-cats-like-hare-no-theyre-smaller-they-only-want-me-to-play-with-them-fly-away-with-them-to-place-on-other-side-moon-theres-garden-there-all-silverygold-cats-hares
We are thankful to come here for rest, sir, " said Jenny. "You see, you don't know what the rest of this place is to us; does he, Lizzie? It's the quiet, and the air." "The quiet!" repeated Fledgeby, with a contemptuous turn of his head towards the City's roar. "And the air!" with a "Poof!" at the smoke. "Ah!" said Jenny. "But it's so high. And you see the clouds rushing on above the narrow streets, not minding them, and you see the golden arrows pointing at the mountains in the sky from which the wind comes, and you feel as if you were dead." The little creature looked above her, holding up her slight transparent hand. "How do you feel when you are dead?" asked Fledgeby, much perplexed. "Oh, so tranquil!" cried the little creature, smiling. "Oh, so peaceful and so thankful! And you hear the people who are alive, crying, and working, and calling to one another down in the close dark streets, and you seem to pity them so! And such a chain has fallen from you, and such a strange good sorrowful happiness comes upon you!" Her eyes fell on the old man, who, with his hands folded, quietly looked on. "Why it was only just now, " said the little creature, pointing at him, "that I fancied I saw him come out of his grave! He toiled out at that low door so bent and worn, and then he took his breath and stood upright, and looked all round him at the sky, and the wind blew upon him, and his life down in the dark was over!-Till he was called back to life, " she added, looking round at Fledgeby with that lower look of sharpness. "Why did you call him back?" "He was long enough coming, anyhow, " grumbled Fledgeby. "But you are not dead, you know, " said Jenny Wren. "Get down to life!" Mr Fledgeby seemed to think it rather a good suggestion, and with a nod turned round. As Riah followed to attend him down the stairs, the little creature called out to the Jew in a silvery tone, "Don't be long gone. Come back, and be dead!" And still as they went down they heard the little sweet voice, more and more faintly, half calling and half singing, "Come back and be dead, Come back and be dead!

Charles Dickens
we-are-thankful-to-come-here-for-rest-sir-said-jenny-you-see-you-dont-know-what-rest-this-place-is-to-us-does-he-lizzie-its-quiet-air-the-quiet-repeated-fledgeby-with-contemptuou
You are God. You want to make a forest, something to hold the soil, lock up energy, and give off oxygen. Wouldn't it be simpler just to rough in a slab of chemicals, a green acre of goo? You are a man, a retired railroad worker who makes replicas as a hobby. You decide to make a replica of one tree, the longleaf pine your great-grandfather planted- just a replica- it doesn't have to work. How are you going to do it? How long do you think you might live, how good is your glue? For one thing, you are going to have to dig a hole and stick your replica trunk halfway to China if you want the thing to stand up. Because you will have to work fairly big; if your replica is too small, you'll be unable to handle the slender, three-sided needles, affix them in clusters of three in fascicles, and attach those laden fascicles to flexible twigs. The twigs themselves must be covered by 'many silvery-white, fringed, long-spreading scales.' Are your pine cones' scales 'thin, flat, rounded at the apex?' When you loose the lashed copper wire trussing the limbs to the trunk, the whole tree collapses like an umbrella. You are a sculptor. You climb a great ladder; you pour grease all over a growing longleaf pine. Next, you build a hollow cylinder around the entire pine... and pour wet plaster over and inside the pine. Now open the walls, split the plaster, saw down the tree, remove it, discard, and your intricate sculpture is ready: this is the shape of part of the air. You are a chloroplast moving in water heaved one hundred feet above ground. Hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen in a ring around magnesium... you are evolution; you have only begun to make trees. You are god- are you tired? Finished?

Annie Dillard
you-are-god-you-want-to-make-forest-something-to-hold-soil-lock-up-energy-give-off-oxygen-wouldnt-it-be-simpler-just-to-rough-in-slab-chemicals-green-acre-goo-you-are-man-retired
I saw thee once - only once - years ago: I must not say how many - but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared stir, unless on tiptoe - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in the parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell upon the upturn'd faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturn'd - alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight - Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow, ) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footsteps stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! - oh, G! How my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused - I looked - And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind the garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out: The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All - all expired save thee - save less than thou: Save only divine light in thine eyes - Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them - they were the world to me. I saw but them - saw only them for hours - Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition! yet how deep - How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go - they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me - they lead me through the years. They are my ministers - yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindle - My duty, to be saved by their bright fire, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope, ) And are far up in Heaven - the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still - two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

Edgar Allan Poe
i-saw-thee-once-only-once-years-ago-i-must-not-say-how-many-but-not-many-it-was-july-midnight-from-out-a-fullorbed-moon-that-like-thine-own-soul-soaring-sought-precipitate-pathwa
To Helen I saw thee once-once only-years ago; I must not say how many-but not many. It was a july midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light Thier odorous souls in an ecstatic death- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted by thee, by the poetry of thy prescence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses And on thine own, upturn'd-alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate that, on this july midnight- Was it not Fate (whose name is also sorrow) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred; the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh Heaven- oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two worlds!) Save only thee and me. I paused- I looked- And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out; The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All- all expired save thee- save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes- Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them- they were the world to me. I saw but them- saw only them for hours- Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition!yet how deep- How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go- they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me- they lead me through the years. They are my ministers- yet I thier slave Thier office is to illumine and enkindle- My duty, to be saved by thier bright light, And purified in thier electric fire, And sanctified in thier Elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), And are far up in heaven- the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still- two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

Edgar Allan Poe
to-helen-i-saw-thee-onceonce-onlyyears-ago-i-must-not-say-how-manybut-not-many-it-was-july-midnight-from-out-a-fullorbed-moon-that-like-thine-own-soul-soaring-sought-precipitate-
from the upcoming novel, Agent White: A figure dressed all in black ran across the rooftops in the rain. A black cloak fluttered behind him as he ran two and sometimes three stories above the sidewalk where Ezra Beckitt stood. Long silver hair tied back in a ponytail flew out behind him, exposing ears that came to sharp points. His left ear was pierced with a silver ring, high up in the cartilage. Like the old man, this black figure wore a sword; but this weapon was long and thin, slightly curved. The blade stuck out behind him for three and a half feet, almost seeming to glow against the grey backdrop of the rain-soaked cityscape. Suddenly, the figure in black looked down into the street and saw Ezra there. More, he saw Ezra seeing him. Startled, he lost his sure footing and slid down the steep incline of an older building's metal roof, the busy street below waiting to catch him in an asphalt embrace. The figure in black got his feet under himself and pushed, flying out into space above the street. For an eternity Ezra watched him, suspended in the air and the rain with his cloak spread in midnight ripples around him, and then the figure in black flipped neatly and landed on the sidewalk half a block away. The pavement cracked, pushing up in twisted humps around the figure in black's tall leather boots. Before the sound of this impact even reached Ezra the figure was up and gone, dashing through the morning throngs waiting for buses or headed to the 'tram station. Ezra saw a girl's hair blow back in the wind created by his passing, but she never noticed him. A young techie blinked his 20-20's (Ezra's own enhanced senses picked up the augmented eyes because of a strange, silvery glow in the pupils) and turned halfway around, almost seeing him. And then the figure in black darted into an alley, gone. Ezra drew his service weapon and ran after, pushing his way through the sidewalk traffic. Turning into the alley he skidded to a stop, stunned; the figure in black was still there. The alley was just wide enough to accommodate Ezra's shoulders- he couldn't have held his arms out at his sides. Dumpsters spilled their trash out onto the wet pavement. The alley ended in a fire door, the back exit of a store on the next street over. Even if it was locked, Ezra didn't think it would pose a real problem for the figure in black. No, he was waiting for him. Ezra advanced with his gun out in front of him, and his eyes locked with the figure in black's. His were completely black- no pupils, no corneas, only solid black that held no light. The figure in black smiled, exposing teeth that looked very sharp, and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore leather gloves with the fingers cut off. His fingers were very long and very white. 'Don't even think about it, ' Ezra said, clicking the safety off his weapon. 'I am a Hatis City Guard, an if you move I will put you down.' This only seemed to amuse the figure in black, whose smiled widened as he drew his sword. Ezra opened fire.

Michael Kanuckel
from-upcoming-novel-agent-white-a-figure-dressed-all-in-black-ran-across-rooftops-in-rain-a-black-cloak-fluttered-behind-him-as-he-ran-two-sometimes-three-stories-above-sidewalk-
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