Orange Quotes

New York is a sucked orange.

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!

Everyone knows that yellow, orange, and red suggest ideas of joy and plenty. I can paint you the skin of Venus with mud, provided you let me surround it as I will.

I loved Christmas. We had a really great time. But there wasn't - it was all - you had to be happy with, you know, an orange and a couple of walnuts, you know, in your stocking.

Photography in our time leaves us with a grave responsibility. While we are playing in our studios with broken flowerpots, oranges, nude studies and still lifes, one day we know that we will be brought to account: life is passing before our eyes without our ever having seen a thing.

My main ambition as a gardener is to water my orange trees with gin, then all I have to do is squeeze the juice into a glass.

When I sit down at the typewriter, I write. Someone once asked me if I had a fixed routine before I start, like setting up exercises, sharpening pencils, or having a drink of orange juice. I said, "No, the only thing I do before I start writing is to make sure that I'm close enough to the typewriter to reach the keys."

notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening

Love you not, then, to list and hear The crackling of the gorse-flower near, Pouring an orange-scented tide Of fragrance o'er the desert wide?

Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers.

My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I'm told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but its silver when its wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.

And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.

Being from Orange County is in a lot ways very much like being from the Midwest.

I didn't know anything about fashion, growing up in Orange County. I just knew about it through music, how ska bands dressed.

I grew up in California, which was not - at least in the '50s and '60s - a cultural oasis by any means. Certainly not Orange County, anyway.

I think our show is very different from Orange County.

I play Orange County drums. I love those guys. I've got a four piece kit.

Global consciousness is that thing responsible for deciding that pots containing decaffeinated coffee should be orange.

You can't compare an apple to an orange. It will cause a lot of self esteem issues.

Orange is the color of the sun. It is vital and a good color generally, indicating thoughtfulness and consideration of others.

I must always have fresh orange juice, alkaline water and hazelnut creamer for my coffee.

I love fresh citrus and always keep lemons, limes, and oranges on hand; they come in handy for spritzing up quickly grilled meats, seafoods, and vegetables, especially when followed up by a quick drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

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.

Time will come; we will plant trees to other planets! I see the orange trees and the cherries in the far lands beyond the earth.

Many people are deficient in vitamin D. A glass of milk, for example, has only 100 IU. Other foods, such as orange juice, yogurt and cheese, are now beginning to be fortified, but you have to work fairly hard to reach 1,000 IU a day.

I don't wear orange or yellow on the red carpet because my skin kind of blends in with them.

My favorite TV shows are Orange Is the New Black, House of Cards, Modern Family, and Veep.

I know there are California oranges and Florida oranges. When I'm in Florida, I like Florida oranges. Today, I think California oranges are the best, of course.

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice

I forgive nothing. If you stole my orange crayon in the fifth grade, you're still on my hit list, buddy.

The colors are stunning. In a single view, I see - looking out at the edge of the earth: red at the horizon line, blending to orange and yellow, followed by a thin white line, then light blue, gradually turning to dark blue and various gradually darker shades of gray, then black and a million stars above. It's breathtaking.

I don't like diabolism so I stay away from things like Clockwork Orange. I think diabolism is awfully childish. I don't even want to see The Godfather. I couldn't stand seeing that horse's head cut off. I wouldn't mind if it were Marlon Brando's.

It's a good thing we're pretty to look at," I said as Lend sat down on the orange plastic seats next to me. "Because we don't have much else going for us as bowlers.

A dead hydrangea is as intricate and lovely as one in bloom. Bleak sky is as seductive as sunshine, miniature orange trees without blossom or fruit are not defective; they are that.

Let me peer out at the world through your lens. (Maybe I'll shudder, or gasp, or tilt my head in a question.) Let me see how your blue is my turquoise and my orange is your gold. Suddenly binary stars, we have startling gravity. Let's compare scintillation - let's share starlight.

The orange sky is rolling across the sky like a severed head, gentle light glimmers in the ravines among the clouds, the banners of the sunset are fluttering above our heads. The stench of yesterday’s blood and slaughtered horses drips into the evening chill.

To exaggerate the fairness of hair, I come even to orange tones, chromes and pale yellow ... I make a plain background of the richest, intensest blue that I can contrive, and by this simple combination of the bright head against the rich blue background, I get a mysterious effect, like a star in the depths of an azure sky.

Now the autumn shudders In the rose's root. Far and wide the ladders Lean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambers Up the trellised frame, And the rose remembers The dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossom On the rose's bough Sits the wizened orange, Bitter berry now; Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

We're living in a world that says that if you engage in mass fraud, you'll be rewarded, but if you go down the street and steal an orange juice, you get arrested.

One mustn't ask apple trees for oranges, France for sun, women for love, life for happiness.

The most-honored ancestors of your matriarch besmirched the season of the orange blossom.

When 'American Pie' happened, I was so lucky to get that opportunity and I just tried to do a good job in that genre. But the films that inspired me as a kid were, like, Malcolm McDowall in 'A Clockwork Orange.' He was my hero.

If I am allowed to give a metaphorical allusion to the future state of the blessed, I should imagine it by the orange-grove in that sheltered glen on which the sun is now beginning to shine, and of which the trees are at the same time, loaded with sweet golden fruit and balmy silver flowers. Such objects may well portray a state in which hope and fruition become one eternal feeling.

Women became almost our bigger audience. Teenage girls went crazy for my movie. I saw it. I went to theatres all over and there were gangs of girls going and screaming. There were kids that were 10 or 11 years old when September 11 happened. They've been told for years they're going to get killed, they're going to get blown up. Every time you go on an airplane, X-ray your shoes because you're going to get blown up. Terror alert orange, don't travel. So, people have a reaction and they want to scream. Horror movies have become the new date movie.

Seems there's a big debate going on about whether a new TV commercial for Minute Maid orange juice portrays Popeye and Bluto as gay lovers or just good friends. The commercial shows Popeye and Bluto at the beach and riding a bicycle for two. I don't think that makes them gay. I think the fact they both find Olive Oyl attractive, that makes them gay.

Music can lift us out of depression or move us to tears - it is a remedy, a tonic, orange juice for the ear. But for many of my neurological patients, music is even more - it can provide access, even when no medication can, to movement, to speech, to life. For them, music is not a luxury, but a necessity.

Talk—half-talk, phrases that had no need to be finished, abstractions, Chinese bells played on with cotton-tipped sticks, mock orange blossoms painted on porcelain. The muffled, close, half-talk of soft-fleshed women. The men she had embraced, and the women, all washing against the resonance of my memory. Sound within sound, scene within scene, woman within woman—like acid revealing an invisible script. One woman within another eternally, in a far-reaching procession, shattering my mind into fragments, into quarter tones which no orchestral baton can ever make whole again.

The physical five oranges goes up the ladder to the picture of the five oranges which goes up to the representation of the five oranges as a numeral. This points in the direction of a definition of abstraction: when we abstract we voluntarily ignore details of a context, so that we can accomplish a goal.

Imagine ten or tweleve orange chairs arrainged in a circle, with the happy woen from the flyer sitting at opposite ends. Only problem was, from day one, they weren't happy. Someone, whoever made that flyer, must have digitally turned their frowns upside down. They wrote about death. About the evilness of men. About the destruction of-and I quote- "the greenish, bluish orb with wisps of white." Seriously, that's how they descibed it. They went on to call Earth a knocked-up gaseous alien needing an abortion.

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.