Even now I remember those pictures, like pictures in a storybook one loved as a child. Radiant meadows, mountains vaporous in the trembling distance; leaves ankle-deep on a gusty autumn road; bonfires and fog in the valleys; cellos, dark window-panes, snow.
I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops.
-
Nikki Giovanni
There are easy ways to bring back summer in the snowstorm
-
Anonymous
Your words on the screen are my color palette I dip my brush into your words and paint you On the sky, on the ceiling, on the snow; on the tablet Of things eternal : love truth beauty happiness
-
Anonymous
What, Rudolph wasn’t available?
-
Sierra Donovan
Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder--no matter how old you became and how much you'd seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.
-
Candace Bushnell
More Quotes By Donna Tartt
Because I don’t care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here’s the truth: life is a catastrophe. The basic fact of existence...
Putting your time in at the office; dutifully spawning your two point five; smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bedsheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better never to have been born-never to have wanted...
Whenever you see flies or insects in a still life–a wilted petal, a black spot on the apple–the painter is giving you a secret message. He’s telling you that living things don’t last–it’s all temporary. Death in life. That’s why they’re called natures mortes. <span...
What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star? That, by the way, is a phrase of Julian's. I remember it from a lecture of his on the Iliad, when Patroklos appears to Achilles in a dream. There is...
And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time...
