A photograph shouldn't be just a picture, it should be a philosophy.

I decided I would fill the emptiness in me with God and with paint.

When you build a house You nail down memories Paint and stain the fabric of time

Your words on the screen are my color palette I dip my brush into your words and paint youOn the sky, on the ceiling, on the snow; on the tabletOf things eternal : love truth beauty happiness

I became an artist because I wanted to be an active participant in the conversation about art.

Curiosity is the art of creativity.

It was any outcast's nightmare.If I looked carefully, I suspected I might find it beneath the black paint of the small acrylic by the window.

Wisdom paints a rainbow in your mind, joy paints a rainbow in your heart, and love paints a rainbow in your soul.

I celebrate myself, I paint and dance and sing myself, and what I assume you will assume, for every atom as of me as good belongs to dreamy You. I am a song. I am a poem. I am the soil and a gem. I am a stargate and a voyage. I am the ocean and your soul.

I wasn’t a nerd, mind you, but I’d spent a lot of my youth studying Epics, so I’d had limited experience with social interaction. I mixed with ordinary people about the same way that a bucket of paint mixed with a bag of gerbils.

I learned to play the instruments of war," he said, "and paint in blood.

Death would be an extremely bad thing like most of us paint it, if being dead were painful.

Once you show someone your true colors it is impossible to paint over them.

The ugliest storms paint the loveliest rainbows.

You can paint the whole sky black, but that won’t keep stars from shinning.

As paint needs a canvass for its beauty to show, stars need darkness for their splendor to shine.

If the storm forgets to bring a rainbow, paint your own.

The darkest part of the storm paints the brightest part of the rainbow.

Piece makes Peace , Pain makes Paint, A Word create World. "The One person can change you, Maybe ubiquitous r inconspicuous.

You can’t colour your world with someone’s paint.

I write our names on the page.What of it, if the paper will be burned?I write our names in the sand.What of it, if the shore will be washed by waves?I write our names on trees that will be cutand benches that will be painted,but what of it?I will keep on writing our namesbecause in this world of ephemera, You and I are the only constant.

Despite my incessant desperation, I simply cannot paint the perfect picture within which I would wish to live out my life. And because I cannot, God picked up the brush of love, positioned the canvas of history and painted a manger.

I PAINT MY FACE.By Omrane Khuder.Mirror, distorted; I sit, paint my Face,Toxic white Make-up buries my Scars,My Eyes tell lies; Dumbfounded Confidence hides the Disgrace.Place the tragic Vehicle called My Life in to Drive,Sad pathetic Clown; Late for the suppression show,Despair another time; Let the chuckles and defeat derive.I paint my Heart; I hide my True.I paint my Soul; I keep it from You.I paint, I cannot accept; To ignore you the way you ignore Me?I paint my scarred and pitiful Face; No Will left to restore Me.I paint my Face; it’s all I know to do.My painted Face shatters the Mirror, yet still all I see is You.

If I began to drawmyself away from youwe’d still be liketwo mixed colors of paintimpossible to separate.

I love you beyond paint, beyond melodies, beyond words. And I hope you will always feel that, even when I'm not around to tell you so.

For all the pain you suffered, my mama. For all the torment of your past and future years, my mama. For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you. For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats. For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend. For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this painting—an observant Jew working on a crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.

At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.

Anyone can put paint on a canvas, but only a true master can bring the painting to life. Anyone can kill, but only a genius can make murder an art.

I wanted to paint a picture some day that people would stand before and forget that it was made of paint. I wanted it to creep into them like a bar of music and mushroom there like a soft bullet.

Your paintings are staggeringly beautiful. Did I ever tell you that,or was I just too concerned that you weren't going to earn a living? I know the answer...I worried that the paint was so thickly applied that it might snap off and ruin someone's carpet, rather than realizing that you'd made color itself tactile.

You are the Poem I dreamed of writing, the Masterpiece I longed to paint. You are the shining Star I reached for in my ever hopeful quest for life fulfilled. Yes, I am Blessed.

The greater the injury, the greater the fun.

Know that blank pages feel the urge of the ink as much as tears paint a different pain, changes

I miss being in Barbados in December,That is a time I always remember,The smell of varnish on the wooden floors,And the smell of paint on the wooden doorsThe crowds in de Supermarket,Buying up the rum,And the music blastingPuh rup a pum pum

Artists have a unique ability to paint the world, and to help people see injustice. They do it not with guns, but with pens and guitars and paintbrushes.

Your mind is the canvas upon which you are the artist. What will you paint on your canvas today? Will you draw a stick figure or create a masterpiece...?

I paint the darkness and the silence, You see them as stars and poetry.

Sometimes you have to go a little crazy before you can find sanity. I think I'm close.

Tattoos are a permanent commitment of passion

A painting shouldn't be just a picture, it should be a philosophy.

Lovers tend to be philosophical, achievers are practical.

Pragmatism is good prevention for problems.

We make, see, and love films, not digitals. To convert all of our movies, home videos, theaters, photographs and television to digital would be like telling a painter to throw away his brushes and canvas for an I-Pad. Celluloid isn't just nostalgic, it's an art form and, like it or not, it's superior to digital. It lasts much longer, it provides grain and brighter colors, and it takes more effort so that it produces something wonderful. With the inferior binary codes, pixels and untested shelf-life of digital files, plus the fact that these days anyone with a digital camera, even a two-year-old, can make a video and pollute the world with self-photography and cat pictures, film has a lot more integrity and worth than digital.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the way I paint I'm going to need to contact an editor. Even if I were to abstractly paint the phrase "I love you," it would be the visual equivalent of Joyce's Ulysses.-James Lee Schmidt and Jarod Kintz

Paint me perfect poetry.

It's useless to paint a closed door, in order to change its color. The door needs to be open for both sides to change as same.

Imagination is tapping into the subconscious in a form of open play. That is why art or music therapy, which encourages a person to take up brushes and paint or an instrument, and just express themselves, is so powerful.

Make a good gallery! Your names and your photos give you a unique identity. Make and maintain a good name in the hearts of people. Paint good photos in their minds.

Dream in colours, for hues are vibrant. Paint each day with a smile. In days of past, don't grieve; Make new deposit to the pleasant memory bank! Let your life be a reason for others to LIVE.

If we give Jesus what we have, what we give Him will never be less.

Wittgenstein likes to assert: "Whereof we cannot speak we must be silent". But skilfully using our hands and manipulating our thoughts can be plausible options to make ourselves understood. So, if we can’t say it, we can show and depict it. Whereof we cannot speak we can paint! ("Happy days are back again")

I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry.

The spirit of arrogance most definitely makes you shine. It paints a bright red target on your own forehead.

Our bodies are simply our shells, the package for the spirit and the soul.

burnt by the sunof your mouth, I’m unable to speak or paint you with words

You paint the picture of your surroundings. Paint it beautifully.

To paint an image and to write a poem, is to reclaim the dignity and personal joy...it is an invitation for my creative contemplation of an opened mind...it is a storytelling venture on a blank page of paper and white canvases...it is reclaiming my life.

We never realize the power of real love unless we witness or experience a transaction, because real love costs.

My God, Sage. Your eyes. How have I never noticed them?"That uncomfortable feeling was spreading over me again. "What about them?""The color," he breathed. "When you stand in the light. They're amazing... like molten gold. I could paint those..." He reached toward me but then pulled back. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful.

You put your soul into those paintings, and nothing in this world is more beautiful to me than that soul of yours.

In fact, the room was so quiet you might have heard a drop of paint splash.

Your names and your photos give you a unique identity. Make and maintain a good name in the hearts of people. Paint good photos in their minds.

God begins to paint the clouds in the eastern sky when the mountains butterflies come flying home

To live is to paint, it is to create; but while we are painting, we are being painted, being created as well!

The sky is a canvas, so paint your own life.

Like a splendid mosaic of myriad colors, she in all her hues of sensitivity would paint her feelings in your mind’s gray skies. She was the butterfly making you run after her. She was the Zahir, a mirage that transcended borders and time-zones.

I wish I had a brush that could paint the whole sky and turn every morning into night. I wish I could always sleep next to you in the never ending night and hold your hand, watching the reflection of all the stars in your eyes, while you smile and watch them in the sky with wonder.

There’s something familiar about the curve of her lower lip. The weight cradled by a soft, slender chin. The bow of her top lip sweeps across it in a way that makes me think of the sun setting on the horizon. A perfect paint stroke of pink to light the sky. -Excerpt from Born Wicked ©2014 A.D. Evans

... from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.

It was strange walking through the empty apartment. My battered purple room was gone, Brittany’s bruised blue was gone. Two coats covered everything. It was like none of it had ever happened.

Kids are real artists. They’d rather paint the outside of the box than being stuck inside.

Protect the ears of your heart, rather than being drawn in each day like the fading tides that dance daily with the moon.

I would like to paint the way a bird sings.

And still, still, there is more to describe- we paint because drawing breath is an agony and exhaling an ecstasy and somewhere in the space in-between we think we once found a truth; and the eternal part of us desires to share this truth at all costsonly it's never quite how we pictured it, and it's never quite received the way we wantand the paint drips with our own blood the handles of our brushes are our own bonesour own tears become the words to our most beautiful love songs and we know we'll never get it right before we die-getting up every morning and facing our own limited truth is a courage so divine most men quell and women stay enslaved in silence.

If you can write, paint, or compose without fear, pain, tears or questions, then you are either very blessed or very bland.

Little decisions over time make a big impact on our lives.

Every life is a canvas and every interaction is a brush, therefore we’d be wise to consider how we handle the paint.

After using a paint chart from a local DIY superstore to identify the skin tone of his penis as midnight chocolate, Miriam stayed down on one knee and offered him the citizenship he had always wanted and the middle-aged white woman he would grudgingly accept.

The police have no leads as yet on the person or persons who painted obscene suggestions on the buildings. One store owner said he was going to leave a dictionary on a public bench so the vandals could at least spell the obscenities correctly.

What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born.

Negative people will always be there to stain your pure image with their dirty tongues and brushes, but you'll always remain as white as snow, no matter how high the quality of paint they use.

Lifelong pain, an unwanted pregnancy, and even death may be the reward for such a brief window of pleasure. What a foolish gamble!

APPROACHRain is falling. Winter approaches. I drive towards it. In the slow rain. In the semi-darkness. Cello music is playing in the car. The deep sad sound of the cello. It almost swamps me. Routine endeavours to swamp me. The everyday paying of bills.But I paint men walking in a city of icebergs and crystal. Some of the icebergs are red. I paint a woman swimming in green wavy water. Surrounded by desert mesas. Bright orange in the sunlight. With darker orange for shadows. I paint two people. With purple and pink and yellow and blue circles overlapping the boundaries of their bodies. Dancing.Life is not ordinary. When I see you tonight I will press my lips to your eyelids. Each one in turn. I will rub my fingertips over the skin on the back of your hands and around your wrists. I will sigh. I will growl. I will whinny. I will gallop into your smile. One sharp foot after the other.

You are the creator. Get out that old box of paints and brushes and start drawing love into your life.