Quotes About Expression

What's weird, I said, is that I've never seen you cry. He said, I cry all the time.

I don't speak, I wrote. I'm sorry. She looked at the piece of paper, then at me, then back at the piece of paper, she covered her eyes with her hands and cried, tears seeped between her fingers and collected in the little webs, she cried and cried and cried, there weren't any napkins nearby, so I ripped the page from the book -I don't speak. I'm sorry.-and used it to dry her cheeks, my explanation and apology ran down her face like mascara,[...]

The Eskimos have four hundred words for snow, and the Jews have four hundred for schmuck.

E asa de greu sa te exprimi. - Eu inteleg. - Eu vreau sa ma exprim. - La fel si eu. - Imi caut vocea. - E in gura ta.

What do you think is going on?' 'I feel too much. That's what's going on.' 'Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?' 'My insides don't match up with my outsides.' 'Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?' 'I don't know. I'm only me.' 'Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.

But it's actually pretty easy to say horrible things: retard, cunt, whatever. In a way, it's even easier because we know exactly how bad the words are. There's nothing scary about them. Part of what makes something really hard to say is the not knowing.

Si-a lasat familia de izbeliste. Mi-am scris expresia pe creier.

And I love the idea of books being more than books, or being, rather, something other than books. I think the ideal experience of my book would be like listening to music. And I love the idea of books being more than books, or being, rather, something other than books. I think the ideal experience of my book would be like listening to music.

I pulled the book from him.     It was wet with tears running down the pages, as if the book itself were crying.     He hid his face in his hands.     Let me see you cry, I told him. I do not want to hurt you, he said by shaking his head left to right. It hurts me when you do not want to hurt me, I told him.     Let me see you cry.

Ik wist niet wat hij voelde want ik kende de taal van zijn gevoel niet

I wanted to pull the thread, unravel the scarf of my silence and start again from the beginning . . .

As for the bracelet Mom wore to the funeral, what I did was I converted Dad's last voice message into Morse code, and I used sky-blue beads for silence, maroon beads for breaks between letters, violet beads for breaks between words, and long and short pieces of string between the beads for long and short beeps, which are actually called blips, I think, or something.

That's not true, I said, not knowing what the next words out of my mouth would be, but wanting them to be mine, wanting, more than I'd ever wanted anything, to express the center of me and be understood.

We are not only the tellers of our stories, we are the stories themselves.

Punch with your mouth and talk with your feet.

What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and they played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls?

Good writers are pleasing, very good writers make you feel and think, great writers make you change.

I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?

Sadness of feeling the need to create beautiful things;

But he didn't say anything, and neither did she. Not because the words were deliberately withheld, but because the pipeline between them was too occluded for such bravery.

And so it is with prayer, with true prayer, which is never a request, and never praise, but the expression of something of extreme significance that would otherwise have no way to be expressed. As Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, 'Prayer may not save us. But prayer may make us worthy of being saved.' We are made worthy, made righteous, by expression.

Words are the clothing of our thoughts.

Truth shines the brighter clad in verse.

and the first words I learnt, were to express my desire "that he would please give me my liberty;" which I every day repeated on my knees. His