Quotes About Expression

And even if my voice goes before I do, I shall continue to write polemics against religious delusions, at least until it's hello darkness my old friend.

Deprivation of the ability to speak is more like an attack of impotence, or the amputation of part of the personality. To a great degree, in public and in private, I 'was' my voice.

If something is worth bearing or listening to, it's very probably worth reading. So, this above all: Find your own voice.

I put my genius into my life, not into my art.

I'm afraid, ha, ha, I find more inspiration in the Marquis de Sade.

I like hearing the sound of your voice, but I don't care a bit what you're saying.

What it sees there isn't so much a face as the expression of a predicament.

The gramophone keeps reiterating a statement about life with which I do not agree.

It's possible to commit art and entertainment in the same moment.

All the poetry in the world is in that face.

Live how you live, feel how you feel and fuck all the phonies in your way.

As in plain terms (yet cunningly) he crav'd it; / Love always makes those eloquent that have it (II.71-2).

And 'tis a pretty toy to be a poet.

Love always makes those eloquent that have it. ---From Hero and Leander, Sestiad II

I can be most colorful and inventive when I am angry.

She gave him the wide, green-eyed expression that she would have described as I will slap you so far into next week that it will take a team of surgeons just to get Wednesday out of your ass.

He was a writer and words were his weapons.

Oh, I would while away the hours, Wanking in the flowers, my heart all full of song, I'd be gliding all the lilies as I waved about my willie, If I only had a schlong.

Why is it one can busta rhyme or busta move anywhere, but one must busta cap in someone's ass?

OMFGEIGHTPOUNDBABYJESUSONAPOGOSTICK WHAT?

I'm thinking of being a professional mourner. How hard can it be? Tear at your hair, sing a dirge or two, take the rest of the week off.

She doesn't understand that a writer is a special creature--that I'm different from everyone else. I'm not saying I'm superior to other people, just more sensitive, I guess.

Words, words, words, a million million words circle in my head like hawks, waiting to dive onto the page to rend and tear the only two words I want to write. Why me?

I was all, Oh, dog, Countess gonna crack open a forty of whup-ass on you now. Oh, you in the sh*t now, wigga! (I am not incline to use hip-hop vernacular often, but there are times when, like French, it just better expresses the sentiment of the moment.) -Abby