In every picture there should be shade as well as light.
We are violets blue, For our sweetness found Careless in the mossy shades, Looking on the ground. Love's dropp'd eyelids and a kiss,-- Such our breath and blueness is.
One candle is enough. Its gentle light will be more suitable, will be more gracious when the Shades arrive, the Shades of Love.
I ripped through the blue shade of the constraints of color.
If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden. The two processes complement each other, creating a complete landscape that I treasure. The green foliage of the trees casts a pleasant shade over the earth, and the wind rustles the leaves, which are sometimes dyed a brilliant gold. Meanwhile, in the garden, buds appear on the flowers, and colorful petals attract bees and butterflies, reminding us of the subtle transition from one season to the next.
I feel like I'm the only person - or woman, at least - who hasn't read 'Fifty Shades of Grey.
Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems
Forgive me-he mumbled against her lips. Please. Forgive me for what I'm going to do to you. ~Shade
My mum taught me that redheads shouldn't wear pink, red or orange, but if you choose the right shade, such as a bright orange or a cherry red, it can look fabulous.
And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
There is a point when a personal opinion shades off into an error of fact.
Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid
Life is a canvas of many strokes where shades from different palettes meet into a picture so concrete that some forget it is their own, so become framed themselves.
Nothing more powerfully excites any affection than to conceal some part of its object, by throwing it into a kind of shade, whichat the same time that it shows enough to prepossess us in favour of the object, leaves still some work for the imagination.
Deserted libraries hold the shades of writers who worked within, and are haunted by their absence.
No new reader, however charitable, could open “Fifty Shades of Grey,” browse a few paragraphs, and reasonably conclude that the author was writing in her first language, or even her fourth.
Astrology is a sickness, not a science. . . It is a tree under the shade of which all sorts of superstitions thrive.
Every man as well as every day has its lights and shades.
Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.