A Quote by Nora Roberts

You bring the color and the life. It's a lucky man who is offered that color and life, and a wise one who values it. — © Nora Roberts
You bring the color and the life. It's a lucky man who is offered that color and life, and a wise one who values it.
Red has been praised for its nobility of the color of life. But the true color of life is not red. Red is the color of violence, or of life broken open, edited, and published. Or if red is indeed the color of life, it is so only on condition that it is not seen. Once fully visible, red is the color of life violated, and in the act of betrayal and of waste.
The true color of life is the color of the body, the color of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest color of the unpublished blood.
Color is life, for a world without color seems dead. As a flame produces light, light produces color. As intonation lends color to the spoken word, color lends spiritually realized sound to a form.
For many years, I have been moved by the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away. The color of that distance is the color of an emotion, the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not. And the color of where you can never go.
The fact is, that of all God's gifts to the sight of man, color, is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn. We speak rashly of gay color and sad color, for color cannot at once be good and gay. All good color is in some degree pensive, the loveliest is melancholy, and the purest and most thoughtful minds are those which love color the most.
In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.
We all see color. We do. And anyone who says he doesn't see color is confused or isn't telling the truth. Except... and I know how this sounds, but I can't remember any point in my life where I saw other people and thought of their color.
There's one thing which I hate about color films... people who use up a lot of their despairing producer's money by working in the laboratory to bring out the dominant hues, or to make color films where there isn't any color.
Dark green is my favorite color. It's the color of nature and the color of money and the color of moss!
Always been purple. Like I remember being in the first grade, looking up at the color charts, and saying, 'Man, purple is the best color, man, it's the best color, it just is the best color.' I have a lot of purple shirts and stuff, I'm always wearing purple.
Flowers and flames. And color. Color as color, not as volume or light - only as color.
Color is one of the great things in the world that makes life worth living to me and as I have come to think of painting it is my efforts to create an equivalent with paint color for the world, life as I see it.
The difficulty with color is to go beyond the fact that it's color ? to have it be not just a colorful picture but really be a picture about something. It's difficult. So often color gets caught up in color, and it becomes merly decorative. Some photographers use it brilliantly to make visual statements combining color and content; otherwise it is empty.
Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing.
Color does to me what the touch of the earth did to the giant Antaeus - sends new life, vitality, courage, initiative surging through me. Sometime the scientists will discover that color is a renewer of life.
Black is the absence of all color. White is the presence of all colors. I suppose life must be one or the other. On the whole, though, I think I would prefer color to its absence. But then black does add depth and texture to color. Perhaps certain shades of gray are necessary to a complete palette. Even unrelieved black. Ah, a deep philosophical question. Is black necessary to life, even a happy life? Could we ever be happy if we did not at least occasionally experience misery?
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