The Color of Light Quotes

“Rest in peace? Please, God, no. Haunt me, Sofia. You said you'd haunt me.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“You can suck the life out of someone without ever touching a drop of their blood. --Raphael Sinclair”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“The terrible things that happen to us,” Tessa said slowly. “What we
do with them...I think that’s what makes us artists.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“For decades afterwards, I punished myself with images of Sofia standing
naked in the snow, shivering, clutching a chunk of cement that a guard had told her was soap, in the worst winter Poland has ever known. But as I stared at the empty train tracks and thought of the stationmaster making the schoolyard slash across his throat, I had no idea what he was talking about. I could not have conjured up the kind of man who would be willing to design an oven that would be economically fueled by the fat of the men, women and children it was burning. I would not have believed that these same engineers would find other men willing to carry out their monstrous plans. I, too, would have dismissed it as propaganda, that one kind of human being could industriously collect and kill six million of another kind of human being. Somewhere along the line, there would have to be someone who said no.

Forgive me, Sofia. Forgive me, Isaiah. I did not know.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket."
"A glass of wine, if you have it."
"Of course, sir. Red or white?"
"Always red."
Rafe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“His voice was irresistible, gentle and forceful all at the same time. It held out the sincere promise that he was completely on your side and would never, ever, lie to you. It whispered in your ear other, darker promises. The students, the faculty, the alumni and the other members of the board listened, hypnotized, enraptured.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“It took only five minutes for Tessa to realize that she had found her painting style. The brush glided over the surface of the canvas, the sable hairs leaving delicate marks in the Naples yellow, letting light shine through from underneath. The color slipped on like a veil over the grisaille, revealing just enough gray to make it look like flesh.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He was disgracefully handsome, the flight attendant decided, with the kind of face you saw in old black-and-white Hollywood movies. And, oh, that British accent! Even better. Nadia loved British accents. He was so courteous, such a gentleman, that she wondered if he might somehow be connected to the royal family. Just thinking about it made her pizda tingle. "Then perhaps I can fetch you a blanket."
"A glass of wine, if you have it."
"Of course, sir. Red or white?"
"Always red."
Safe watched the shapely bottom swing pertly away toward the galley. With blue baby-doll eyes and wide pouty lips, she was an adolescent wet dream of a sexy stewardess, long-legged and busty, extravagantly curvy in all the right places under the snug red Aeroflot uniform.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He was standing very close to her, and she felt something like an electric current running through her body as he held onto her hand. She looked up into his face; long and narrow, except for those cheekbones jutting out of it. Wide, almond-shaped eyes, as pretty as a girl's. They were a shifting, indefinable hue, the color of smoke and shadows.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“What she wanted was technique. She wanted to paint like a Renaissance old master. She wanted to know what color Titian tinted his canvas before he started working on it. She wanted to know what colors Caravaggio mixed to make his lights. She wanted to know exactly which pigments Rubens utilized to achieve those juicy fleshy tones, what brown Rembrandt used in his shadows, what combination of oils and resins went into Vermeer's painting medium. She wanted someone to show her how to make Raphael's line and Michelangelo's muscle masses. She wanted to know what made a good composition, and what made a bad one. She wanted to know.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He stopped, stood perfectly still, closed his eyes, breathed in the scent.
He could catch the thinnest glimpse of a girl in the sliver of air between the curtain and the partition. She was small, dressed in art school standard-issue basic black, with an ass like an upside-down heart. But her hair. Oh, her hair. It cascaded in a fall of loose curls down her back, not red, not blonde, not brown, and yet all of them mixed together, trailing off at her waist. With a pang, he imagined the colors he would have used to paint it, in the years when he could still paint; golden ochre, terra rossa, raw sienna.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He found Levon in the second studio on the right, talking with a delectable pastry of a girl standing at the top of a ladder. She was wearing a very short plaid skirt that made her look like a naughty Catholic schoolgirl. She reminded him of a cannoli, a voluptuous vanilla cream filling stuffed into a soft golden crust.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light

“He drew near her, put gentle hands on her body, turned her to face the wall. She twisted her fingers in the gate to keep herself from falling down. As he came up behind her, swept the hair from her neck, touched his lips to her shoulder, she took in a cacophony of smells. Vanilla. Something green, like distant fields. Musk. Sandalwood.
The last thing she would remember as she coasted down into a druggy trance was the prick of his teeth as they pressed into her throat.”
― Helen Maryles Shankman, The Color of Light