Words Quotes - Page 29

So …” Jack clears his throat. “We …”Is Jack Coombs at a loss for words? I guess we don’t have to worry about the performance since the world is clearly going to end.

What are the thorns really telling her? It's why she won't let us see them, why she clings to them--or they cling to her--as though she got herself buried in a bramble thicket and she can't get out and we can't get in to free her.

The only substance that goes in and never leaves, are words

She realized that being starved for words was the same as being starved for food, because both left a hollow place inside you, a place you needed filled to make it through another day. Rachel remembered how growing up she’d thought living on a farm with just a father was as lonely as you could be. (130)

Words are cheap but they gain greater worth when they first minister to the speaker of the same.

wordslike mysterious mermaids come and live permanentlyin the soft sweepsand scars of my skin.

Once I have impounded love and towed it into the confine of words, I have lost it altogether.

We are told that in translation there is no such thing as equivalence. Many times the translator reaches a fork in the translating road where they must make a choice in the interpretation of a word. And each time they make one of these choices, they are taken further from the truth. But what we aren’t told is that this isn’t a shortcoming of translation; it’s a shortcoming of language itself. As soon as we try to put reality into words, we limit it. Words are not reality, they are the cause of reality, and thus reality is always more. Writers aren't alchemists who transmute words into the aurous essence of the human experience. No, they are glassmakers. They create a work of art that enables us to see inside to help us understand. And if they are really good, we can see our own reflections staring back at us.

The true poem rests between the words.

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.

There's supposed to be more value in your life than spending more than sixty hours in a week in a place you don't care about and in an environment they don't care about you.

What was a little dark, anyway? Just no sun, [Petra] reminded herself as her sneakers pounded toward the opening. Just dark, all three fine, she whispered to herself again and again, spinning the words outward into a mobile in her mind. They floated into dark-three, all-just-fine and then into all-fine, dark-just-three.

I think it will be better if we can live our life as if Christ is going to return today and plan our live as if it is hundred years off. Keep living, serving and most of all be prepared.

But the wind always swept my words away like cloud shadows, as if it mattered more that I said them, than who heard them.

Between the lines thoughts were felt. In a way words could never read.

To assess the quality of thoughts of people, don't listen to their words, but watch their actions.

Words cannot do justice to the pleasures of a good bookshop. Ironically.(Waterstones Trafalgar Square)

The ability to read awoke inside of me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive.

My words always get me into troubles. And if not my words, it is my facial expressions.

My words, my writing, my actions—these have never been for myself alone, either directly or indirectly. There is no such thing as an artist who creates art only for himself. That is masturbation.

The true life is not reducible to words spoken or written, not by anyone, ever.

Don’t allow anyone to pollute your mind with negative thoughts and negative words.

You are a foreigner in an actual world, a human co-worker, a truth, a divine word, and a perfect mistake.

To utter a word? no that will only heavy the air you breath, for your eyes speak more then your pretty mouth

Consider your actions and words. Be thoughtful when expressing your feelings or concerns. Sometimes it's not what you say, but the way you say it. That makes all the difference

The night it fallsThe stars shine throughThe inky blackThat is the cueFor plot demandsThat dreams be sownThe fantasies I have aloneThe words come fastThey flow like wineI am the midnight writer...

People to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.

I don't tell her that my grasp on truth, on words, on people, has slipped. I was getting close, so close to normal again, and that's been snatched away. I'm not even back where I started. I'm somewhere else entirely, so far off the map I don't know where to turn next.

I told her about school and how I sat on a wall there and felt stories and words move through me ...

You only benefit from books if you can give something back to them. What I mean is, if you approach them in the spirit of a duel, so you can both wound and be wounded, so you are willing to argue, to overcome and be overcome, and grow richer by what you have learned, not only in the book, but in life, or by being able to make something of your work.

Language is an inventory of human experience.

I know the power of speech. I don't talk much.

Perhaps I have misjudged you, Christopher,” Erienne commented as he whirled her about in a wide sweep of the ballroom. “How so, my love?” He searched her face for some hint of her meaning. “You watch over me as closely as Stuart,” she stated and grew thoughtful. “Perhaps more so.” “I have not given up hope that you will someday become mine, madam, and I choose to safeguard against those who would take you from me.” “What of Stuart?” She raised a lovely brow as she awaited his answer. It was a long moment before he gave a reply. “In the ways of love, I do not consider Stuart as much a threat as an inconvenience.” “An inconvenience?” she queried. “I shall have to deal with him in time, and that will be the difficult part. I cannot dismiss the man without rousing your hatred again. ’Tis a most perplexing problem.” “You amaze me, Christopher.” Erienne shook her head, somewhat shocked by his casual disregard of her husband. “You truly amaze me.” “The feeling is mutual, my love.” His voice came as a soft caress and sent an eddy of sensations spiraling down through the core of her being.-Erienne & Christopher

They took my booksbecause my message was love.They took my penbecause my words were love.Then they took my voicebecause my song was love.Soon they’ll take myselfso nothing remains.But they don’t know that when I'm gonemy love will stay.

In the dark, words get lost.

When I feel inclined to read poetry I take down my dictionary. The poetry of words is quite as beautiful as the poetry of sentences.

We were on stage. We were supposed to speak our dialogues. But at times, a smile says more than words ever can!

I dont celebrate any friendship that was build on hate, because we share the common enemy.

To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.

Words got the power to hurt or heal.

Words make known. But we live in the unknown.

We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.

Words are the tools we use to express our reality.

Writing's much more romantic when its pen and ink and paper. It's... More timeless. and worthwhile. Think about it. There are so many words gushing out into the universe these days. All digitally. All in Comic Sans or Times New Roman. Silly Websites. Stupid news stories digitally uploaded to a 24-hour channel. Where's all this writing going? Who's keeping a note of it all? Who's in charge of deciding what's worthwhile and what isn't? But back then... Back then, if someone wanted to write something they had to buy paper. Buy it! And ink. And a pen. And they couldn't waste too many sheets cos it was expensive. So when people wrote, they wrote because it was worthwhile... not just because they had some half-baked idea and they wanted to pointlessly prove their existence by sharing it on some bloody social networking site.

Because there are hundreds of different ways to say one thing, I, being a writer, songwriter, and poet, speak childishly and incoherently. In speech there is so much to decide in so little time.

Cristofer did not write because he feared forgetting something. He never forgot anything, even when he reached old age. For Cristofer, the written word seemed to regulate the world. Stop its fluctuations. Prevent notions from eroding. This is why Cristofer's sphere of interest was so broad. According to the writer's thinking, that sphere should correspond to the world's breadth. Cristofer usually left his writings in the places where he had made them: on the bench, on the stove, on the woodpile. He did not pick them up when the fell to the floor: he vaguely anticipated their discovery, much later, in a cultural stratum. Cristofer understood that the written word would always remain that way. No matter what happened later, once it had been written, the word had already occurred.

Positive words come from positive thoughts. It implies, when you open your mouth to talk for people to listen, you have opened your mind for them to read. Think positively; talk positively!

Words aren't made — they grow,' said Anne.

Where words lose their meaning, people lose their lives.

Science fiction" means different things to different people. "When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra"—in which case the term science fiction has piled up a lot of expensive overtime.

He'd been given every word he needed, and every word had been stripped from me. I wanted them back. All of them.

Language is fossil poetry

I write these words to touch you,My love, In places my hands can only dream of.

You see, I’m a juggler with words myself.

Words are wind.

Words are things. You must be careful, careful about calling people out of their names, using racial pejoratives and sexual pejoratives and all that ignorance. Don’t do that. Some day we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you.

Well, the drums gave me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like harvest day, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere.

Words can be said easily, but one can't fake actions.

I'd give you my heart, but you'd just give it back, so I'll give you my words instead.

When the long bygone Lee Po wanted to say something, he could do it with only a few words.