Textures 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
music-is-about-textures-as-well-as-melody
art-is-colors-textures-your-imagination-meghan-trainor
i-love-to-play-with-textures-colors-i-mix-them-together-like-i-would-in-painting
sampling-is-kind-of-prehistoric-given-the-technology-and-the-textures-you-can-create
i-am-moved-more-by-melodies-song-structure-evocative-textures
i-love-to-create-interesting-textures-with-language-you-can-do-it-as-long-as-it-seems-like-discovery-robert-morgan
in-kid-a-amnesiac-guitar-becomes-one-more-texture-difficult-to-separate-from-other-textures
i-dont-think-white-house-has-always-reflected-textures-flavors-this-country
the-mixture-weird-textures-organic-surfaces-creates-interesting-dialogue
the-fabric-garden-is-determined-as-much-by-its-textures-as-by-its-tonal-range-architectural-flair
im-liking-different-types-tights-that-you-can-wear-with-high-heels-there-are-lots-different-colors-textures
most-our-childhood-is-stored-not-in-photos-but-in-certain-biscuits-lights-day-smells-textures-carpet-alain-de-botton
art-is-means-expression-that-must-be-understood-by-everybody-everywhere-it-grows-out-earth-textures-our-lives-our-experience-rufino-tamayo
if-youre-playing-with-number-people-there-are-all-sorts-textures-all-kinds-possibilities-you-can-get-into-so-why-just-play-theme-together-then-take-solos
dwelling-on-pain-spending-too-much-time-immersed-in-it-tasting-its-flavors-fingering-its-texturesthis-makes-it-only-more-potent-tayari-jones
im-textural-composer-i-care-lot-about-textures-gestures-electronics-add-much-to-that-its-like-flavor-it-creates-much-texture
its-nice-to-see-different-dimensions-character-a-love-interest-family-life-are-always-i-think-important-in-creating-layers-textures
i-encourage-people-to-play-around-mix-proportions-textures-seasons-prints-to-find-what-makes-them-feel-their-most-comfortable-expressive-thakoon-panichgul
for-too-long-despite-what-people-told-me-i-had-fallen-for-what-culture-said-about-beauty-youth-features-heights-weights-hair-textures-upper-arms-anne-lamott
whether-you-are-cooking-cleaning-house-planting-flowers-try-to-concentrate-on-textures-smells-colors-tastes-sounds-all-zen-moments-focused-joy-jerry-lynch
i-do-not-plan-any-painting-but-begin-with-layers-textures-colors-as-i-layer-colors-something-is-suggested-to-me-from-within-that-is-how-it-evolves-katherine-dunn
technology-is-making-design-more-exciting-with-color-wallpaper-textures-fabrics-that-could-never-have-been-created-without-the-technology
its-fun-to-use-all-my-range-there-are-many-different-colors-textures-that-come-out-revealing-different-parts-my-voice-i-know-what-my-voice-is-capable-i-try-to-fit-it-to-each-song
i-love-bringing-colors-textures-other-cultures-if-i-wear-dress-that-i-bought-from-street-vendor-in-bali-on-red-carpet-its-way-bringing-my-serinda-swan
an-oil-massage-hot-bath-good-nights-sleep-soft-smells-music-clothes-with-soft-textures-denote-sensuality-to-me-padma-lakshmi
the-things-that-keep-me-awake-at-night-are-things-like-textures-instrumentation-plotting-out-what-things-are-going-to-do-what-sounds-are-that-im-ariel-pink
theres-this-misconception-that-artists-should-create-their-own-mythologies-through-how-they-live-not-true-they-should-create-their-own-mythologies-through-their-work-in-whatever-
i-tend-to-work-in-layers-theres-huge-orchestra-in-film-but-i-also-record-lot-things-with-intimate-groups-i-like-to-be-able-to-use-textures-steven-price
what-im-dealing-with-is-sound-i-dont-pretend-to-be-dealing-with-music-im-just-dealing-with-sound-elements-textures-sounds
only-in-black-white-can-i-see-design-textures-i-dont-consider-color-photography-art-black-white-is-interpretation-color-is-duplication-clyde-butcher
i-love-blue-in-all-its-shades-textures-i-wear-navy-like-others-wear-black-i-love-blue-in-flowers-cornflowers-delphiniums
The word God can mean whatever you believe it to mean, for me it is the conscious stream of life from which we all come, and to which we can stay connected throughout our lives as a source of peace, wisdom, love, support, knowing, inspiration, vitality, security, balance, and inner strength. I think that awareness is paramount, because in awareness we gain understanding, which then enables us to regain our feeling of empowerment. We need to feel empowered to make our choices conciously, about how to deal with changes in life, rather than reacting in fear (which tends to make us blind and weak). If we are aware, we can be realistic yet postive, and we can properly focus our intentions. Awareness can be quite sensual (which can add to your sense of feeling empowered). Think about how your body moves as you live your life, how amazing it is; think about nature, observe the intricate beautiful details of natural thngs, and of things we create, and breathe deeply to soak it all in.. Focus on the taste of food, the feel of textures in cloth, the feel of you partner's hand in yours; smell the sea breeze, listen to the wind in the trees, witness the colours of the leaves, the children playing; and be thankful for this life we are experiencing - this life we can all help to keep wonderful. Feel the wonder of being alive flood into you anytime you want, by taking a deep breath and letting the experience of these things fill you, even just by remembering. We all have that same stream of life within us, so you are a part of everything. Each one of us has the power to make a difference to everything. Breathe in that vital connection to the life source and sensual beauty everywhere, Feel loved and strong.

Jay Woodman
the-word-god-can-mean-whatever-you-believe-it-to-mean-for-me-it-is-conscious-stream-life-from-which-we-all-come-to-which-we-can-stay-connected-throughout-our-lives-as-source-peac
Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin. I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don't step away. 'Did you feel that?' she asks. I shake my head. 'I don't know.' I feel so much, always so much. She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at the purple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again. Her breath quickens. I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need. 'Are you doing this?' I ask. Is she making me want this? 'No, ' she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I'm sensing her now, even through the block in the house. We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I'm running, running toward a place I've never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness. And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor. We breathe, staring at each other. The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she's doing it. Whatever's happening, it's her. I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can't seem to remember why I shouldn't kiss her. And kiss her. And... I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas. I grip her tighter. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts. Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

Rachel A. Marks
without-thinking-i-step-little-closer-reaching-out-slowly-to-slide-fingertip-over-largest-petal-lily-tattoo-on-her-lower-back-instantly-vibration-moves-up-my-arm-i-swear-mark-on-
Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep black space high up among many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman's tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of the dots. At length, I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn't find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn't make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at the very moment with great emotion, in intricate detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which whole worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped, in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, 'that was a good time then, a good time to be living.' And I began to remember our time. I recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water... I saw may apples in forest, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided and apples grew striped and spotted in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves, and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wilds ducks flew, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remembered the life of my time with increasing feeling. At last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean's shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, 'Yes, that's how it was then, that part there we called 'France''. I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes.

Annie Dillard
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-black-space-high-up-among-many-white-
Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman's tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of dots. At length I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn't find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn't make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at that very moment with great emotion, in intricate, detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which wholly worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, 'that was a good time then, a good time to be living.' And I began to remember our time. I recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water. I saw white-faced cattle lowing and wading in creeks. I saw May apples in forests, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided, and apples grew spotted and striped in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wild ducks flew with outstretched necks, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remember the life of my time with increasing feeling. At last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean's shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, 'yes, that's how it was then, that part there was called France.' I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes. We all ought to be able to conjure up sights like these at will, so that we can keep in mind the scope of texture's motion in time.

Annie Dillard
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-blank-space-high-up-above-many-white-
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