We could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box.
Life is about using the whole box of crayons.
Stop counting crayons, just draw pictures.
A box of new crayons! Now they're all pointy, lined up in order, bright and perfect. Soon they'll be a bunch of ground down, rounded, indistinguishable stumps, missing their wrappers and smudged with other colors. Sometimes life seems unbearably tragic.
If you want an interesting party sometime, combine cocktails and a fresh box of crayons for everyone.
Never invest in any idea you can't illustrate with a crayon.
Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.
Artists are just children who refuse to put down their crayons.
Actually, all education is self-education. A teacher is only a guide, to point out the way, and no school, no matter how excellent, can give you education. What you receive is like the outlines in a child's coloring book. You must fill in the colors yourself.
Give crayons. Adults are disturbingly impoverished of these magical dream sticks.
Beauty without colour seems somehow to belong to another world.
Art is your personal diary where you may color your thoughts and emotions on a page.
~Sara, Los Cerros Middle School, 1999
Coloring outside the lines is a fine art.
Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the eight-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the eight-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean, there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation, so when I meet someone who's an eight-color type I'm like, "hey girl, magenta!" and she's like, "oh, you mean purple!" and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, "no - I want magenta!"
Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling.
I wish I were a white crayon, that way no one could use me.
Certain peer pressures encourage little fingers to learn how to hold a football instead of a crayon. Rumors circulate around the schoolyard: kids who draw or wear white socks and bring violins to school on Wednesdays might have cooties. I confess to having yielded to these pressures.
~Chris Van Allsburg
My childhood smells like a box of Crayola crayons.
Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid.
Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.
I think the names of colors are at the edge, between where language fails and where it's at its most powerful.
It is the eye of ignorance that assigns a fixed and unchangeable color to every object; beware of this stumbling block.
Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing? Can one really explain this? No.
Poured a cup of hot sepia coffee in a wisteria flowered mug, dandelion sunshine spilling through the periwinkle sky.
I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colors. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.
My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I'm told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but it's silver when its wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.
Your attitude is like a box of crayons that color your world. Constantly color your picture gray, and your picture will always be bleak. Try adding some bright colors to the picture by including humor, and your picture begins to lighten up.