To tell you the truth, I'm relieved that the Van Ripers are not coming. He's telling the same jokes he told twenty years ago and she dyes her hair. I think it's a shrimp pink now.
(Adele Comandini, and Edward Sutherland. Michael O'Brien (Charles Winninger), Beyond Tomorrow, when the three partners are stood up for a dinner engagement (1940).
Original story by Mildred Cram and Adele Comandini.)
Tell a scoundrel, three or four times a day, that he is the pink of probity, and you make him at least the perfection of "respectability" in good earnest. On the other hand, accuse an honorable man, too petinaciously, of being a villain, and you fill him with a perverse ambition to show you that you are not altogether in the wrong.
(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. "Pinakidia 233," Southern Literary Messenger (1849).
The self shaped by the world.)
..she repeats overheard conversations at dirty tables, customers politely pretend not to hear the gossip-large confessions of littler lives pasted Hopper-like to diner windows' glaring reflections without error there where the only self-reflecting going on is the scribbler in the pink booth perversely taking it all in, thinking, feeling, penning it down in notebooks looking for himself in those echoes with your stolen shades on, eternally cool in his capacity to tolerate what you call 'the great densities' - immense absurdities de le quotidian...
...The writer's eye observes, swerves to miss the Mexican kid chasing the ball into Same Old Street, notes it with caffeine amphetamine-laced, and black ink traces the visionary company of love in stubbed cigarettes, sputum maps coughed and spat.
(from 'A Gypsy Cab Author Caught In A Texas Milky Way, A Letter Poem To M. Meursault')
Over the shoulders of April's winter trees..Mother Earth has thrown a pink shawl as light as the
morning breeze.. but two moons later it was tossed for her favorite: a sari of jade
of many green shades