Whiter Quotes

“Is there anything whiter than winter snow?”

“Is there anything whiter than winter snow?”

“Thomas has the kind of whiter-than-white boyish grin that makes women's panties spontaneously evaporate.”

“He is fairer than the morning star, and whiter than the moon. For his body I would give my soul, and for his love I would surrender heaven.”

“To call the Form [of the Good] eternal is misleading: that something lasts forever does not render it any the better, any more than long-enduring whiteness is whiter than ephemeral whiteness.”

“Little sister!" Apollo called. If his teeth were any whiter he could've blinded us without the sun car. "What's up? You never call. You never write. I was getting wor”

“Gazing out from the mountains, the clouds are whiter, the sky is bluer, the air seeping into your lungs is as clear as the water roaring down from the snow, melting on the high peaks. A place where heaven is a little closer.”

“I believe in the Prince of Peace. I believe that War is Murder. I believe that armies and navies are at bottom the tinsel and braggadocio of oppression and wrong, and I believe that the wicked conquest of weaker and darker nations by nations whiter and stronger but foreshadows the death of that strength.”

“His voice a rhythm like rain, words rolling over themselves... “You are distinguished from the leaves by the shape of your eyes.They are whiter in color and rounder. Except on nights like this when the leaves are luminous....”“Still, you are distinguished from the night–your voice silent as candles melted in their own pools, used up with expression and light....”

“Asleep by the SmithsVapour Trail by RideScarborough Fair by Simon & GarfunkelA Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol HarumDear Prudence by the BeatlesGypsy by Suzanne VegaNights in White Satin by the Moody BluesDaydream by Smashing PumpkinsDusk by Genesis (before Phil Collins was even in the band!)MLK by U2Blackbird by the BeatlesLandslide by Fleetwood MacAsleep by the Smiths (again!)-Charlie's mixtape”

“WIDE, the margin between carte blanche and the white page. Nevertheless it is not in the margin that you can find me, but in the yet whiter one that separates the word-strewn sheet from the transparent, the written page from the one to be written in the infinite space where the eye turns back to the eye, and the hand to the pen, where all we write is erased, even as you write it. For the book imperceptibly takes shape within the book we will never finish.There is my desert.”