Rose Colored Lenses Quotes

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Chance held them up to the light. “Pink?” he said as he looked through the lenses. It was not his favorite color. “Rose,” William corrected. “It’s hard to look at mortal life any other way. View it through clear lenses and it breaks your heart.
Jennifer Donnelly (Stepsister)
We all look at our parents through rose-colored glasses. Those lenses make you miss their flaws, overlook their shortcomings...and still be able to love them unconditionally.
K. Bromberg (The Player (The Player, #1))
The depressives, far from seeing themselves through dark lenses as we had presumed, were cursed by twenty-twenty vision: compared with other groups, their self-ratings of positive qualities most closely matched how the observers rated them. In contrast, both the nondepressed psychiatric patients and the control group had inflated self-ratings, seeing themselves more positively than the observers saw them. The depressive patients simply did not see themselves through the rose-colored glasses that the others used when evaluating themselves.
Walter Mischel (The Marshmallow Test: Mastering Self-Control)
Looking through rose colored glasses doesn’t presume we don’t see what’s real and true, but it does mean we’re choosing a lovely hue for a more optimistic view.
LeAura Alderson
Cruel blows of fate break our rose-colored glasses.
Tamerlan Kuzgov
É inventando que consigo ser honesto.
Jeferson Tenório (O Avesso da Pele)
I know it is hard, everything looks beautiful through rose colored lenses, even the red flags look pretty.
Lindsey Lewis (Unfaithful: A Orc Modern Romance)
Mauve cream Kabuki actors use conceal dark circles under my eyes. I brush soothing sable bristles of coral blush across high cheekbones, smudge taupe color on eye lids, darken thick lashes, dot ash rose gloss across my lips. Heavy red frame glasses and rose lenses cover grey eyes. I rip the telephone from the wall and stumble, drunk and crying, to the door, batter the facing with the phone handle, counting arrhythmic phlegmatic beats. Splinters and fragments of wood fall to the floor, a lingering catarrh lying among pale turquoise and gold threads. The scent of roses and jasmine lingers. The sky and dot and window refracture. I look into the gold leaf mirror, pleased with the effect: A perfect face reflects no inner turmoil.
Kay Merkel Boruff (Z.O.S.: A Memoir)