Quotes About Expression

and neither of them ever said what they meant and i guess nobody ever does

Of the many foundations upon which humans rest, words are probably the most solid.

I am pushing you, even if it's off a cliff, to create. Write that book, that song; pore over the concept of redecorating your life. I meet people all the time who say they're not creative. Bullshit, motherfuckers, you are creative.

Creativity in its purest form is when you're willing to stand erect, eyes slammed shut, and let yourself fall

I'm still the first person to say "F**k you" but I'm faster to say "I love you.

I [had] admired the works of artists, but to my mind, they were only shadows and semblances. The inventor, I thought, gives to the world creations which are palpable, which live and work.

Now the soft-voiced gentle woman of my reverent worship has all but vanished, in her place has come the woman who thinks that her chief success in life lies in making herself as much as possible like man—in dress, voice and actions, in sports and achievements of every kind.

What a strange machine man is! You fill him with bread, wine, fish, and radishes, and out comes sighs, laughter, and dreams.

Only one woman exists in this world, one woman with countless faces.

My entire soul is a cry, and all my work is a commentary on that cry.

O brain, be flowers that nightingales may come to sing!

I'm alone and am suffocating because I'm unable to give voice to my emotions.

S? m? ierÈ›i, st?pâne, eu mi-s cam din topor; vorbele-mi strepezesc dinÈ›ii, se lipesc de ei ca noroiul de picioare ; nu pot s? turui È™i s? spun baliverne, nu pot È™i pace; da' tu m?-nÈ›elegi, nu-i aÈ™a?

He has given a warm, beloved, living body to all the abstract ideas which were shivering inside me. When he is not there, I start shivering again.

Acum, când nu te afli în faÈ›a mea È™i când nu vezi ce expresie cap?t? chipul meu È™i nu risc s? par tandru È™i ridicol, îÈ›i m?rturisesc ce mult te iubesc.

That little pipsqueak! ... I'd like to pick him up by the scruff of his neck and thump him on the ground like a young octopus!

run off—and how will you ever get control of them again! They come to life, join, separate, ignore your commands, arrange themselves as they like on the paper—black, with tails and horns. You scream at them and implore them in vain: they do as they please. Prancing, pairing up shamelessly before you, they deceitfully expose what you did not wish to reveal

I say one thing, you write another, and those who read you understand still something else!

You don't talk dirty to make him hot. You talk dirty to communicate what you need. And most guys, if you go, Yeah, yeah, just like that, a little more to the left, they'll do it.

You can't help it. An artist's duty, as far as I'm concerned, is to reflect the times.

Life is short. People are not easy to know. They're not easy to know, so if you don't tell them how you feel, you're not going to get anywhere, I feel.

To most white people, jazz means black and jazz means dirt, and that's not what I play. I play black classical music.

It is an artist's duty to reflect the times.

Sometimes I sound like gravel and sometimes I sound like coffee and cream.