Paints And Colors Quotes

“She didn't look up, her gaze focused entirely on the paper before her as she drew what looked like a wing. He picked up one of the papers from the floor, and on it was a butterfly, the colors a blending of vibrant yellows and oranges.
He held out the paper. "What's this one called?"
"Golden Shimmer," she said. "She loves the sunlight."
He picked up a picture of a light-purple butterfly with a string of pearls around her neck. "And this one?"
"Lavender Lace. She has the power to heal all sorts of wounds."
He scanned the room, all the pictures on the floor. "Do they each have a name?"
Finally she looked at him, her bright-blue eyes meeting his. "Of course."
And he realized with a pang of sadness that these were Libby's friends for life.
"They are beautiful."
A glint of a smile. "Thank you."
He picked up another butterfly, this one a dark violet shade, a silver streak bleeding across the edge of its wings.
"What is she called?"
"Silver Shadow."
"Does she have a story?"
Libby's smile faded. "She's lost and can't seem to find her way home.”
― Melanie Dobson, Shadows of Ladenbrooke Manor

“She returned to the floor, and a tray appeared beside her with a sandwich, glass of milk, and some cubes of cantaloupe. She didn't know who brought it in, but she picked up a piece of the cantaloupe and examined it. The color matched some of the roses in the lady's garden, exactly what she needed for the flowers she'd drawn behind her butterfly.
Yellow, white, and a dab of red- she combined them on the plate until a soft peach colored her palette.
Walter thought she should grow up, like the lady wanted Oliver to do, but grown-ups didn't spend their nights dancing in gardens. Or painting. "I will stay a girl forever," she whispered, changing the lyrics from 'Peter Pan.' "And be banished if I don't."
She began to paint her butterfly.
"I'll never grow up," she chanted as she worked.
It wasn't until the first rays of dawn spilled across her paper that she began to feel sleepy. Her floor was covered with pictures and papers, but where others might see a mess, she saw a new world. There were flowers and trees and butterflies she'd brought to life with her hands. And her heart.
A lot of people thought she wasn't good at anything, but it wasn't true. She was good at making things.”
― Melanie Dobson, Shadows of Ladenbrooke Manor

“As the room filled with tart, pleasant fumes Esther had never smelled before, her head became light with joy. These paints and and brushes and canvases were the tools real artists used. In the short hour left, inspired by Van Gogh, she chose a corner of the room as her subject and began to paint in tiny, furious brush strokes. To her amazement, yellow and blue combined into a vibrant green, red and blue turned a pulsating purple, and yellow and red mixed into a glowing orange. But beyond the colors, some new magic took over. Esther's eyes, clear as if the cumin had never blinded her, captured shapes and shadows and threw them on the canvas without effort, without thought. The urge to paint was a fountain that coursed through her, her fingers only a conduit to something so big it was hard to imagine her little heart contained it. Surely, this was the work of God. He must be guiding her hand.”
― Talia Carner, Jerusalem Maiden

“But... lately... added to the excitement was something else, something just the slightest bit off, a daub of grey in sunny yellow paint. Something unsettled and anxious. It might almost have been...
Trepidation .”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine