Quotes About Expression

I'm sick!" he bellowed, his voice cracking like a frozen lake underfoot.

You ever . . . look at a YouTube comments section? You'd . . . want everyone dead . . . too.

2. Words Define Reality Words are like LEGO bricks: the more we add, the more we define the reality of our playset. The dog fucked the chicken tells us something. The Great Dane fucked the chicken tells us more. The Great Dane fucked the bucket of fried chicken on the roof of Old Man Dongweather's barn, barking with every thrust goes the distance and defines reality in a host of ways

Writers are goofy-headed moon-units.

Mood is painted in the margins: you create the image by negative space, dancing around it without ever saying it. 9.

HELLO. I AM ENJOYING THIS HUG, TOO. HUG HUG HUG. A HUG IS LIKE VIOLENCE MADE OF LOVE.

Writing is the act of creation. Put words on a page, words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs, paragraphs to seven-book epic fantasy cycles with books so heavy you could choke a hippo. But don't give writing too much power, either. A wizard controls his magic; it doesn't control him.

Together, they placed Trigger in a case all its own, clearing out the gold records that hung there. ("Gold records are bullshit," Pete said, throwing them behind them in a pile. They clattered as they fell—not the sound of metal against metal, but the sound of garbage against garbage. "Disposable. Not even real gold. Just some cheap shit vinyl they spray-paint.")

You're not tasked with desalinating an ocean or training a komodo dragon to cure ebola. I'm saying, sludge yourself into the ass receptacle and peck keyboard keys like a hungry chicken until it makes words. Or pick up one of the tools used by our distant ancestors -- it is a tube filled with the liquid black souls of all the animals we've made extinct -- and use this pen as a scribe would to etch scribbly heretical word-shapes onto dead tree pulp.

Look like chick books." "And you're a chick, so what's the problem?" She laughs. "Well, you've got beans and franks, or so I assume." "Hey," he says, suddenly all serious. "Reading books by female authors does not limit my macho vibe. Plus, bitches write the best characters, man. It's like they get people, you know?

Protest, he thought, was sometimes targeted, yes. A singular message put out against bad men and worse behavior. Other times, it served as a wordless, senseless exhortation—an expression of a problem that was not yet fully understood.

Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free.

Just remember: there is no Muse, and if there is a Muse, you own it – it doesn't own you.)

This is not a book of writing advice. It's not here to help make you a better writer. Rather, it's here to help you become a better storyteller.

The countenance is the portrait of the soul, and the eyes mark its intention.

T?cerea face parte din conversa?ie.

God created creativity! That might sound unusual to you, but it's true: God is the master artist, and all creative talent and inspiration flows from Him.

I'm disgusted with how people get themselves to look beautiful; I'm much more fascinated with the other side.

There were so many things mingled in his expression--yearning, disappointment, and yes, love.

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that Lili's world was not so different from my dioramas, or even from Sirena's installations: you took a tiny portion of the earth and made it yours, but really what you wanted was for someone else -- ideally, a grown-up, because a grown-up matters, has authority, but is also not the same as you -- to come and see, to get it, and thereby, somehow, to get you; and all of this, surely so that you might ultimately feel less alone on the planet.

Her self, then, was represented in her books.

I was funny -- ha-ha, not peculiar. It was a modest currency, like pennies: pedestrian, somewhat laborious, but a currency nonetheless. I was funny, in public, most often at my own expense.

what I really want to shout, and want in big letters on that grave, too, is FUCK YOU ALL. Don't all women feel the same? The only difference is how much we know we feel it, how in touch we are with our fury. We're all furies, except the ones who are too damned foolish

That's sort of what happened with Cassie and me. I guess I was Goya, just doing my thing, and she was the French Revolution.