Description Quotes
Description Quote of the day
The bowler approached the wicket at a lope, a trot, and then a run. He suddenly exploded in a flurry of arms and legs, out of which flew a ball.
He suddenly exploded in a flurry of arms and legs, out of which flew a ball.
Eloquence is painted thought, and thus those who, after having painted it, add somewhat more, make a picture, not a portrait.
I saw Sonora before me, so otherworldly, so desolate, some cast-out mistress on the pale blue planet, and longed suddenly to stay.
A good story or a book is all about it's power to hold it's readers still till the very last word of it's climax - complexity in language, dialogues, descriptions, everything else is secondary!
Night was fading over the fields as if the rain had washed the darkness out of the hem of its garment.
It was still early, and the sun's lower limb was just free of the hill, his rays, ungenial and peering, addressed the eye rather than the touch as yet.
He was a small, chubby little man with a perpetual air of sadness about him, making him look like a baby that has dropped its rattle.
There is little more I can add short of dissecting the man, or going into intimate details such as the modest proportions and slight southeasterly curvature of his manhood.
A few blossoms float into the room. They drop like frayed yellow ribbons on the gray carpet.
Unless they are off duty, no matter how wide it is, and even when it is sincere, a smile seems fake if the job description of the person who is smiling includes smiling.
The lines of her face, turned up to the sky, would have broken your heart.
The evening sky was awash with peach, apricot, cream: tender little ice-cream clouds in a wide orange sky.
![Description Quotes: "Character is what we do when no one else is watching"~R. Alan Woods [2012]"](https://www.quoteslyfe.com/images/collection3/quotations173/Character-is-what-we-do-when-no-173883.jpg)
Character is what we do when no one else is watching"~R. Alan Woods [2012]
Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.
Tricky was a plain-faced man with a very handsome voice - a voice like the sound of a clarinet, at once liquid and penetrating, and lovely to listen to.
String theory is an attempt at a deeper description of nature by thinking of an elementary particle not as a little point but as a little loop of vibrating string.
... it was with an unusual intensity of pleasure, a pleasure destined to have a lasting effect upon his character and conduct...
... it had arrested for all eternity the moment which it had been trying to make pass more quickly.
Salander was an information junkie with a delinquent child's take on morals and ethics.
A baby is a symbol of peace, a plot of dreams, a light of hope, and a bundle of joy.
Lady Moon rose an' gazed o'er my busted'n'beautsome Valleys with silv'ry'n'sorryin' eyes, an' the dingos mourned for the died uns.
It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.
Art is the reflection of pure emotion and mind, the nature of sensation. An artist illustrates that.
Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding.
While the bible is GOD because the word of GOD is GOD, please understand that GOD cannot be contained in the bible. To believe otherwise is to make an infinite GOD finite.
The sky is grey, with a thin TV-static drizzle that hangs in the air like it's been freeze-framed.
... the kiss, the bodily surrender which would seem natural and but moderately attractive...
I look out at the reservation, still and glittering with casinos, and think of all the death dried up and buried in its dirt.
All this happened in much less time than it takes to tell, since I am trying to interpret for you into slow speech the instantaneous effect of visual impressions.
I see foxes often, but always they are crossing fallow fields in the distance. Gold flecks on faraway expanses of green. Magnetic to the meandering eye. Enigmatic, unreachable.
Dorothy scratched her dark head, yawning wide, and white feathers floated out of her hair.
Mirabelle sat down, dropping into the cushions like a ball being caught in a large leather glove.
...she felt as if her entire body were glowing with the taste of sunlight, of wind blowing in wide spaces and trees reaching their burdened arms to boundless skies.
I drank, sucking the blood out of the holes, experiencing for the first time since infancy the special pleasure of sucking nourishment, the body focused with the mind upon one vital source.
To label myself is similar to thinking that I can come up with a single phrase to explain the universe.
Everything about her was sweet, pale like honey. You would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair.
He had the beginning of wrinkles and the easy manner of one who has already made his mistakes.
She had short curls and her face had so many wrinkles it looked as if someone had been trying to draw her for a very long time and every line put in had made the face more like her.
This morning, I see the lead in my glass tumbler. A slim, bright glint, a silverfish. I feel it collecting in my blood, papercutting the lining of my veins.
But a man's beauty represents inner, functional truths: his face shows what he can do.
