Chrome Color Quotes

There is no mystery in this association of woods and otherworlds, for as anyone who has walked the woods knows, they are places of correspondence, of call and answer. Visual affinities of color, relief and texture abound. A fallen branch echoes the deltoid form of a streambed into which it has come to rest. Chrome yellow autumn elm leaves find their color rhyme in the eye-ring of the blackbird. Different aspects of the forest link unexpectedly with each other, and so it is that within the stories, different times and worlds can be joined.

Then, at a meeting, Petal Bear. Thin, moist, hot. Winked at him. . . . Grey eyes close together, curly hair the color of oak. The fluorescent light made her as pale as candle wax. Her eyelids gleamed with some dusky unguent. A metallic thread in her rose sweater. These faint sparks cast a shimmer on her like a spill of light. She smiled, the pearl-tinted lips wet with cider. . . . As she spoke she changed in some provocative way, seemed suddenly drenched in eroticism as a diver rising out of a pool gleams like chrome with a sheet of unbroken water for a fractional moment.

Who would dare admit a longing for a White nation so full of hate that it drove its citizens of color to madness, to death or to exile? How to confess even to one's ownself, that our eyes, historically customed to granite buildings, wide paved avenues, chromed cars, and brown, black, beige, pink, and white-skinned people, often ached for those familiar sights?

This was the very role of the bicycles that wheeled over this same topography Just as seawater defined the tidal lands, the bicycles revealed America's economic and social systems by floating though its bloodstream and coloring-with sparkling chrome, metallic paints, a whir of spokes and flicker of handlebar ribbons-the murkiest corners and furthest reaches.

Come on in, I’ve got a sale on scratch and dent dreams, whole cases of imperfect ambitions stuff the idealists couldn't sell. Yeah, I know none of its got price tags, you decide how much its worth. And none of its got glossy colored packaging but it all works just fine. I’ve got rainy day swing sets good night kisses and stationary stars still flying at the speed of light. And over there out back if you dig down through those alabaster stoplights and those old 45’s you’ll find a whole crate of second hand hope. Yeah right there, that’s no chrome, you just gotta work, polish it up a little bit. Most folks give up too easy, trade it in for some injection mold and here and now.

If a fountain could jet bouquets of chrome yellow in dazzling arches of chrysanthemum fireworks, that would be Canada Goldenrod. Each three-foot stem is a geyser of tiny gold daisies, ladylike in miniature, exuberant en masse. Where the soil is damp enough, they stand side by side with their perfect counterpart, New England Asters. Not the pale domesticates of the perennial border, the weak sauce of lavender or sky blue, but full-on royal purple that would make a violet shrink. The daisylike fringe of purple petals surrounds a disc as bright as the sun at high noon, a golden-orange pool, just a tantalizing shade darker than the surrounding goldenrod. Alone, each is a botanical superlative. Together, the visual effect is stunning. Purple and gold, the heraldic colors of the king and queen of the meadow, a regal procession in complementary colors. I just wanted to know why. In composing a palette, putting them together makes each more vivid; just a touch of one will bring out the other. In an 1890 treatise on color perception, Goethe, who was both a scientist and a poet, wrote that “the colors diametrically opposed to each other . . . are those which reciprocally evoke each other in the eye.” Purple and yellow are a reciprocal pair. Growing together, both receive more pollinator visits than they would if they were growing alone. It’s a testable hypothesis; it’s a question of science, a question of art, and a question of beauty. Why are they beautiful together? It is a phenomenon simultaneously material and spiritual, for which we need all wavelengths, for which we need depth perception. When I stare too long at the world with science eyes, I see an afterimage of traditional knowledge. Might science and traditional knowledge be purple and yellow to one another, might they be goldenrod and asters? We see the world more fully when we use both. The question of goldenrod and asters was of course just emblematic of what I really wanted to know. It was an architecture of relationships, of connections that I yearned to understand. I wanted to see the shimmering threads that hold it all together. And I wanted to know why we love the world, why the most ordinary scrap of meadow can rock us back on our heels in awe.

Multicolored pipes vein the outside of every building in a dense varicose web: crimson chrome for heat, dark olive for potable water, mirror black for sewage. And then the bootleg ones, the off-color reds for hijacked heat, the green plastics for stolen water.

Hell. I swallowed hard and traced a finger along one of the cuff bracelets. The color of platinum. “My God, Lee.” I picked one of them up and felt the weight of it in my hand. Such a simple design, straight lines, gleaming metal, about four or five millimeters wide, maybe two millimeters thick. Both had the same engraving. The Property and Love of Master Kingsley. Lee’s arms appeared under mine, and he placed a tiny screwdriver of sorts next to the box. It was the key, I realized. He was collaring me—permanently. Fuck. I wasn’t gonna cry, I wasn’t gonna cry. “Wear my collar,” he whispered in my ear. “For the rest of your life.” I nodded jerkily as my throat closed up. Holy shit, this was happening. “Always, Master.” He pressed himself closer to my back and took the first cuff from me. And he used the little screwdriver, in the same material, and unlocked the tiny lock. “Have you heard of cobalt chrome before?” he asked quietly. I shook my head, unable to stop staring at the cuffs. “Long before we started marketing it as an alternative for gold in wedding rings, we’ve used it for artificial joints, implants, and prosthetics because of how our bodies accept the metal.” He attached the first cuff around my left wrist, and it snapped into place with the faintest snick. Then he used the tool to secure the locking mechanism. “You’ll wear them day and night. You’ll shower with them. They’ll weather every storm, every fight-fuck in the woods, every flame from my Kevlar flogger, and any insecurity we might face together.” I sniffled and blinked past the sting in my eyes. “They’ll always be with you.” He moved on to the second cuff. “By default, I will always be with you too. They’re not just proof of my ownership—they’re a reminder that Master is one call away. And only he has the key.” My chest seized up, and the second both cuffs were locked into place, I spun in his embrace and threw my arms around his neck. I couldn’t fucking find my words. I just felt how full my heart was, how joy surged through me, how comfort threw a giant blanket over my existence. Lee tightened his arms around me and squeezed me so hard. “They’re never coming off.” “Good,” I croaked. “I love you so much.” Stronger than titanium. Like our love.

Impression, Sunrise”, which gave rise to the term “impressionism”. He described his palette this way: “As for the colors I use, what's so interesting about that? I don't think one could paint better or more brightly with another palette. The most important thing is to know how to use the colors. Their choice is a matter of habit. In short, I use white lead, cadmium yellow, vermilion, madder, cobalt blue, chrome green. That's all." (Author’s Note: Cadmium yellow deep was used to mix the palette above.)

There’s some language of flowers stuff that says what color roses mean what things. So I got you all the colors of roses they had because your everything….

Seven of them. An old, open-top Jeep with most of its paint missing. A Chrysler 300 sedan in black with chrome wheels and heavy tints on the windows. A Porsche 911, dark blue and gleaming in the afternoon sun. A 1980s Cadillac, originally burgundy, now chalky and dull. A mustard-colored Volvo station wagon. A tiny, sky blue FIAT. And a white Hyundai SUV.

1930s Functionalism/Modernism Exterior •Facade: Cube shapes and light-color plaster facades, or thin, standing wood panels. •Roof: Flat roof, sometimes clad in copper or sheet metal. •Windows: Long horizontal window bands often with narrow—or no—architraves; large panes of glass without mullions or transoms. Emphasis on the horizontal rather than on the vertical. Windows run around corners to allow more light and to demonstrate the new possibilities of construction and materials. •Outside door: Wooden door with circular glass window. •Typical period details: Houses positioned on plots to allow maximum access to daylight. Curving balconies, often running around the corner; corrugated-iron balcony frontage. Balcony flooring and fixings left visible. The lines of the building are emphasized. Interior •Floors: Parquet flooring in various patterns, tongue-and-groove floorboards, or linoleum. •Interior doors: Sliding doors and flush doors of lamella construction (vaulted, with a crisscross pattern). Masonite had a breakthrough. •Door handles: Black Bakelite, wood, or chrome. •Fireplaces: Slightly curved, brick/stone built. Light-color cement. •Wallpaper/walls: Smooth internal walls and light wallpapers, or mural wallpaper that from a distance resembled a rough, plastered wall. Internal wall and woodwork were light in color but rarely completely white—often muted pastel shades. •Furniture: Functionalism, Bauhaus, and International style influences. Tubular metal furniture, linear forms. Bakelite, chrome, stainless steel, colored glass. •Bathroom: Bathrooms were simple and had most of today’s features. External pipework. Usually smooth white tiles on the walls or painted plywood. Black-and-white chessboard floor. Lavatories with low cisterns were introduced. •Kitchen: Flush cupboard doors with a slightly rounded profile. The doors were partial insets so that only about a third of the thickness was visible on the outside—this gave them a light look and feel. Metal-sprung door latches, simple knobs, metal cup handles on drawers. Wall cabinets went to ceiling height but had a bottom section with smaller or sliding doors. Storage racks with glass containers for dry goods such as salt and flour became popular. Air vents were provided to deal with cooking smells.

The truth is my dad may have loved his cars a little too much. When it came to selecting optional trim packages, styling accessories, and color combinations, he could go a little overboard. In an era when automobile designers already pushed the limits of good taste, my father was all too willing to nudge them just a little further. He loved whitewall tires and sparkling chrome wheels. He insisted on pinstripes, the more lines the better. He adored monument-size hood ornaments and glimmering side trim. He considered features like carriage tops and burled wood dashboards standard equipment. As a result, one of the two cars my family owned at any given time often resembled the perp vehicle being chased down on the latest episode of Starsky and Hutch.

The last tattered remnants of the afternoon’s cloud cover dissipate through the treetops and color returns to the world. I watch as the dense forest shifts from chrome yellow to a translucent saffron and then slowly fades through ocher to umber to gloom.