Quotes About Expression

after midnight Just words. No more pictures. No charts or plays or poems. Now it's just about the words.

Clocks are as pointless on the Tennessee as poets are on Earth.

You fill my sombrero with sexual pudding!

If it's impossible to understand how I could kick a weeping, torn-in-half cog that was gushing something that looked like tapioca pudding and whale semen on my nice shiny space suit, then you probably never kicked a car for getting a flat tire, or slapped a television remote when the batteries were getting weak, in which case you'll never understand what it means or meant to be a human.

The same words that make the horrible things come also tell the quieter things about love.

But when I was quiet...that made words too. The same words that make horrible things come also tell the quieter things about love.

Santa Claus is a lie but if you think that's bad, check out what 'fuck' really means.

The idea that you're not a writer until you're published is a lie.

Gardening is not trivial. If you believe that it is, closely examine why you feel that way. You may discover that this attitude has been forced upon you by mass media and the crass culture it creates and maintains. The fact is, gardening is just the opposite - it is, or should be, a central, basic expression of human life.

I can't work completely out of my imagination. I must put my foot in a bit of truth and then I can fly free.

Your interest lies in not asking questions," he said quietly. "Think what you like. But bear in mind this: the moment you are told what the point of your work is, you're dead. This isn't a film, it's for real. The full story is what you get told only if and when your work, and with it your existence, are no longer required." He smiled a sad smile. "Still, I do, in fact, wish you well. Believe me.

Hiro said after a moment. "It hurts." "No, it's fine. It will heal quickly." "Not your hand. The music." Angelica hesitated. Had she understood him? She said, "It does hurt. And it doesn't. Maybe like all beautiful things.

Zwyczajem wszystkich szpicli Å›wiata unikali patrzenia w oczy i jak wszyscy szpicle Å›wiata mieli pospolite i wyblakÅ'e gÄ™by, którym usilnie starali siÄ™ nada? mÄ…dry wyraz, dziÄ™ki czemu przypominali umysÅ'owo chore maÅ'py.

A woman accentuates her beauty for her own self-esteem.

Give me my sword, Geralt.' He looked at her. Ciri stepped back involuntarily. She had never seen him with an expression like that before. 'If you had a sword, you might have to kill with it. Can you do it?' 'I don't know. Give me my sword.' 'Run. And don't look back.' Horses

Ha, ha. I, my dear Ciri, am a poet. Poets know everything about things like this. I'll tell you something else; poets know more about this sort of thing than the people involved do.

You're talking nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces.

Truth is one thing, poetry another.

Geralt's expression changed a little, in what was probably supposed to be a smile.

Songs and ballads"—the musician bowed—"never end, dear lady, because poetry is eternal and immortal, it knows no beginning, it knows no end—

Because how am I to know, dammit? When I cut my finger, I bleed. I bleed every month, too. I get belly-ache when I overeat, and a hangover when I get drunk. When I'm happy I sing and I swear when I'm sad. When I hate someone I kill them and when—But enough of this! Your answer, witcher.

Geralt was amazed by her arsenal of smiles.

I need this conversation. They say silence is golden. Maybe it is, although I'm not sure it's worth that much. It has its price certainly; you have to pay for it.

The doppler pursed its glutinous lips and glowered at the Witcher with an evil expression in its dull eyes