Quotes About Expression

Mi genio, si se puede decir así, consiste en combinar un montón de cualidades medias en una representación compacta.

Ä°ÅŸte ben böyle hissediyorum kendimi, hem de her gün. Ama kimse beni dinlemek, anlamak istemiyor. Kendimi iyi, neÅŸeli hissetmeliyim onlara göre. Her gün Tom Jones dinlemeliyim mesela, ya da ÅŸu dizide oynayan Avusturalyal? k?z?. Ama ne yapay?m, ben böyle hissediyorum kendimi iÅŸte. Radyoda ruh halime uygun ÅŸeyler çalm?yorlar tabii. Kederliysen toplumun d???nda kal?yorsun.

Ma mentre trovavo loro una casa nella sezione "saggistica d'arte e letteratura" (personalmente trovo che agli scopi domestici il sistema di archiviazione Trivial Pursuit funzioni meglio del Dewey), d'un tratto ho avuto una piccola epifania: tutti i libri che possediamo, letti e no, sono l'espressione più piena che abbiamo a disposizione della nostra personalità.

The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product. (I

Lucy se dio cuenta de que ninguno de los dos había dicho la frase «Te quiero», y sin embargo cada uno había encontrado el modo de decirle al otro que lo quería. Parecía un buen modo de terminar.

É possível que esse tipo de habilidade passe despercebido porque Smoke é apenas uma canção, do mesmo modo que Yesterday ou Something não eram apenas canções.

I libri, ammettiamolo, sono meglio di qualunque altra cosa. Se organizzassimo un campionato di fantaboxe culturale, schierando sul ring i libri contro il meglio che qualunque altra forma d'arte abbia da offrire, sulla distanza di quindici riprese…be', i libri vincerebbero praticamente sempre.

What came first—the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?

What came first, the music or the misery?

Walbourne's fluid, tasteful, beautiful solos drop the jaw, stop the heart, and smack the gob, all at the same time.

The other dancers were embarrassed themselves, which meant that they weren't actually embarrassing; they weren't doing much more than tapping their feet, and the only way you could tell they were dancing at all was that they were facing each other but not looking at each other and not talking.

And mostly all I have to say about these songs is that I love them, and want to sing along to them, and force other people to listen to them, and get cross when other people don't like them as much as I do.

Thunder Road' knows who I am and what I feel, and that is one of the consolations of art.

Thunder Road' knows who I am and what I feel, and that, in the end, is one of the consolations of art.

If there wasn't an English word for it, though, then it was probably work best avoided, at least until she was really desperate. The

names are really fascist and don't allow us to express ourselves as human beings, and turn us into one thing.

Learning to read happens once and once only for most of us, and for the vast majority of adults in first-world countries it happened a long time ago. You have to dig deep, deep down into the bog of the almost lost, and then carry what you have found carefully to the surface, and then you have to find the words and images to describe what you see on your spade.

I've spent nearly thirty years listening to people sing about broken hearts, has it helped me any? Has it fuck.

Professional mourners may shed real tears.

Congratulations? Martin's expression was like boiling milk. Congratulations? I will not permit my sister to marry such a rogue. Martin, darling. Juliana said, putting a gentle hand on her husband's arm, I completely understand your misgivings but I do think we should consider the matter calmly. Calmly! Martin spun around. I am not calm! I think we all realize that, dearest, Juliana said.

She knew them by their thick woven cloaks, their hanging hair and beards, and their Anglisc voices: words drumming like apples spilt over wooden boards, round, rich, stirring. Like her father's words, and her mother's, and her sister's. Utterly unlike Onnen's otter-swift British or the dark liquid gleam of Irish. Hild spoke each to each. Apples to apples, otter to otter, gleam to gleam, though only when her mother wasn't there.

An authentic life comes from an authentic self in which the layers on the outside are merely expressions of the core on the inside.

Wittgenstein once wrote that when the eye sees something beautiful, the hand wants to draw it. I wish I could draw you.

Then he almost but didn't say the two sentence he'd been meaning to say for years: part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you