Evocative Quotes

Quotes tagged as "evocative" Showing 1-30 of 41
Laini Taylor
“The streets of Prague were a fantasia scarcely touched by the twenty-first century—or the twentieth or nineteenth, for that matter. It was a city of alchemists and dreamers, its medieval cobbles once trod by golems, mystics, invading armies. Tall houses glowed goldenrod and carmine and eggshell blue, embellished with Rococo plasterwork and capped in roofs of uniform red. Baroque cupolas were the soft green of antique copper, and Gothic steeples stood ready to impale fallen angels. The wind carried the memory of magic, revolution, violins, and the cobbled lanes meandered like creeks. Thugs wore Motzart wigs and pushed chamber music on street corners, and marionettes hung in windows, making the whole city seem like a theater with unseen puppeteers crouched behind velvet.”
Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke & Bone

Ed Park
“A few insect skeletons lay scattered on the narrow sill, shiny and precise and sad as broken jewelry.”
Ed Park, Personal Days

Robert E. Howard
“It was no ape, neither was it a man. It was some shambling horror spawned in the mysterious, nameless jungles of the south, where strange life teemed in the reeking rot without the dominance of man, and drums thundered in temples that had never known the tread of a human foot.”
Robert E. Howard

Neil Gaiman
“The cafe door opened. A young man in dusty white leathers entered, and the wind blew in empty crisp packets and newspapers and ice cream wrappers in with him. They danced around his feet like excited children, then fell exhausted to the floor.”
Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

Neal Stephenson
“Wartime lipstick is necessarily cobbled together from whatever tailings and gristle were left over once all the good stuff was use to grease propeller shafts. A florid and cloying scent is needed to conceal its unspeakable mineral and animal origins.

It is the smell of War.”
Neal Stephenson, Cryptonomicon

Haruki Murakami
“A sheet of white extends to the lone dark vertical of the elm tree in the centre ... It is too perfect, to inviolate ... The snow is graced with waves written by the wind, the elm raises crooked arms in sleeves of white.”
Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

“Sinking into the tidal flats of night, I am moved by the oceans above; and by the infinites below; by the compass of your breath that calls to me between.”
Ian William L.

“Rain slipped across my hungry spaces and from below a forest grew to fill my thoughts.”
Ian William L.

Sattareh Farman Farmaian
“Oriental vases and French tapestries and paintings filled their huge mansion, as did the magnificent carpets for which their compound was famous. A vast feast of minted chicken, lamb kabobs, and sweet saffron rice that is served at weddings had been laid out on cloths on the floor of the dining room...”
Sattareh Farman Farmaian

Iris Murdoch
“He was attentive but impersonal, and esteemed rather than loved.”
Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

Pierce Brown
“She turns to the piano and begins a song, slow, mournful, that sounds like the wind in my dreams. As her fingers drift over the keys, the song wakes something inside me besides grief - a shadow, shadow of a shadow in the library of my mind, something I never knew forgotten.”
Pierce Brown, Iron Gold

“Because something is commonised does not mean it is not exceptional beyond commonplace.”
Ian William L.

“Some days are seperate birds apart, those strung between unsteady skies, to leave so soon as each of us, as all entire light.”
Ian William L.

“Prune your spent flowers. Restrike your roots to the soil. Follow the earth of tender things.”
Ian William L.

“I collect things. Not words, but the landscape of them. The nightswimming, cold water pursuit of thought. The earth that some may like us mercurial as we remain.”
Ian William L.

“My heart is the careful shape of a hakea seed—split by flames and floodplains and wildflowers—that bends tall to catch the colours dreamed above, but drops to a salving shade for all attending bright below.”
Ian William L.

“It is the moonbeams of breath cast between us that conduct me towards cloudless hours.”
Ian William L.

“Your insignificance should hold you in comfort, a gossamer thread not yet woven to the wildflowers ahead.”
Ian William L.

“I was not impenetrable, merely inexhaustible. Failure became the clarity of water to wash away spent days, and pain the means to move my heart closer to magnificence.”
Ian William L.

“We are changed forever. But the moments remain, in moth dust fallen from us, in firefly-light and flickering stars, in the monuments of our breathing, in smallnesses that become our mended bones.”
Ian William L.

“All of my fears will rarefy to fuel. All of my fears will lead me forward. All of my fears will ignite old beauty, and arcane refuge, the wonder of all things found in the waiting light.”
Ian William L.

“You are the song I keep in starless light, a beauty known beyond uncommon sight, within your mantle of colours and riotous grace, I seek the fire-storm, our winters place.”
Ian William L.

“My actions have alone been for hope of verdant kindness, to draw free thorns from others where once felt a violent tempest through me.”
Ian William L.

“Hold true to the day when your ruinous colours become the reason you hold light.”
Ian William L.

“You don't feel how far you have come until you look out into the pooling rain and stars to find peace and not a place to run from; your silence falling gentle, and your tenderness grown vast.”
Ian William L.

“My heart is here reclaimed from clay and sculpted to hold the stars.”
Ian William L.

“Draw the harshness of your flowers through fault lines in hurtful spaces and their tenderness in wonder towards the sky. Become the tallness of beauty you have longed to feel within.”
Ian William L.

“Within my mind words become waste but the silence self-conscious; an impossible oubliette always held slightly apart. This snares my voice to great storms, things that don't apologise, the world that doesn't wait to strike.”
Ian William L.

“Where you walk within my life the earth is bruised to speak; flowers spring from buried orchards of breath, the heralds of your loving season.”
Ian William L.

“Pain told in our small time becomes a windswept seed to providently tend, and less a thistle snared deep between each breath.”
Ian William L.

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