red

I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers and greens in every lush shade imaginable offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow.

...and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.

the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.

I try to grasp the colour of my blood and all I feel is life slipping through the colourless veins.

I catch sight of Luis with one of my bandannas on his head and my gut tightens. I yank it off him. "Don't ever touch this, Luis.""Why not?" he asks, his deep brown eyes all innocent.To Luis, it's a bandanna. To me, it's a symbol of what is and will never be. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to an eleven-year-old kid? He knows what I am. It's no secret the bandanna has the Latino Blood colors on it. Payback and revenge got me in and now there's no way out. But I'll die before I let one of my brothers get sucked in.I ball the bandanna in my fist. "Luis, don't touch my shit. Especially my Blood stuff.""I like red and black."That's the last thing I need to hear. "If I ever catch you wearin' it again, you'll be sportin' black and blue," I tell him. "Got it, little brother?"He shrugs. "Yeah. I got it.

Red's had her day. It's time to give pink a go.

The sky inside my head never turns blue. It if forced to stay red. By the demon, who is yellow inside me.

I don't want a rainbow... Rainbows have too many colors and none of them receive the appreciation they deserve... I'd prefer a fading red or a striking golden, a shimmery silver or a sober blue... Ruling the sunset sky alone!

As she always did on any really important day, Penelope Hayes wore red.

Sometimes she walks through the village in herlittle red dressall absorbed in restraining herself,and yet, despite herself, she seems to moveaccording to the rhythm of her life to come.She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,half-turns around...and, all while dreaming, shakes her headfor or against.Then she dances a few stepsthat she invents and forgets,no doubt finding out that lifemoves on too fast.It's not so much that she steps outof the small body enclosing her,but that all she carries in herselffrolics and ferments.It's this dress that she'll rememberlater in a sweet surrender;when her whole life is full of risks,the little red dress will always seem right.

Taylor Swift on why girls look up to her: "It__ the message. I try to have a normal life and look at things in a normal way, under very abnormal circumstances. That__ always going to be my main goal, that__ always what I__ going to strive for, to be a normal human being. It__ interesting because you__e put in really abnormal situations. You have an abnormal-size microscope covering your life and everything you do. You look at the idea of being 22, that__ when you__e supposed to be out there living and being selfish and making mistakes and messing up. If I mess up once, it__ a headline everywhere.

People think blood red, but blood don't got no colour. Not when blood wash the floor she lying on as she scream for that son of a bitch to come, the lone baby of 1785. Not when the baby wash in crimson and squealing like it just depart heaven to come to hell, another place of red. Not when the midwife know that the mother shed too much blood, and she who don't reach fourteen birthday yet speak curse 'pon the chile and the papa, and then she drop down dead like old horse. Not when blood spurt from the skin, on spring from the axe, the cat-o'-nine, the whip, the cane and the blackjack and every day in slave life is a day that colour red. It soon come to pass when red no different from white or blue or black or nothing. Two black legs spread wide and mother mouth screaming. A black baby wiggling in blood on the floor with skin darker than midnight but the greenest eyes anybody ever done seen. I goin' call her Lilith. You can call her what they call her.

When I was out on the battlements it was cool and I could hardly hear them. I sat there quietly. I don't know how long I sat. Then I turned round and saw the sky. It was red and all my life was in it.

As soon as I turned the key I saw it hanging, the color of fire and sunset. the colour of flamboyant flowers. __f you are buried under a flamboyant tree, _ I said, __our soul is lifted up when it flowers. Everyone wants that.__he shook her head but she did not move or touch me.

red is for fire red is for love too it lies in our hand what we wanna choose...

Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice play,

Your red dress,_ she said, and laughed.But I looked at the dress on the floor and it was as if the fire had spread across the room. It was beautiful and it reminded me of something I must do. I will remember I thought. I will remember quite soon now.

Good for Christmas-time is the ruddy colour of the cloak in which--the tree making a forest of itself for her to trip through, with her basket--Little Red Riding-Hood comes to me one Christmas Eve to give me information of the cruelty and treachery of that dissembling Wolf who ate her grandmother, without making any impression on his appetite, and then ate her, after making that ferocious joke about his teeth. She was my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little Red Riding-Hood, I should have known perfect bliss. But, it was not to be; and there was nothing for it but to look out the Wolf in the Noah's Ark there, and put him late in the procession on the table, as a monster who was to be degraded.