Quotes About Expression

Tenéis alguna noción de cuántos libros se escriben al año sobre las mujeres?

It is true that each visit began, continued, or concluded with a declaration of love, but in between there was much room for silence.

it is necessary to have five hundred a year and a room with a lock on the door if you are to write fiction or poetry.

for there was neither pride nor regret in his tone; indeed it kept its level note, as of one who tells a tale so well known that the words have been rubbed smooth of meaning.

Thus, when one takes a sentence of Mr B into the mind it falls plump to the ground— dead; but when one takes a sentence of Coleridge into the mind, it explodes and gives birth to all kinds of other ideas, and that is the only sort of writing of which one can say that it has the secret of perpetual life.

to say, Oh, yes, Frisk. I'll call him Frisk. She wanted even to say, Was

All I could do was to offer you an opinion upon one minor point — a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction; and that, as you will see, leaves the great problem of the true nature of woman and the true nature of fiction unsolved.

It was a miserable machine, an inefficient machine, she thought, the human apparatus for painting or feeling; it always broke down at the critical moment.

Kendisi tek bir ÅŸeyi deÄŸil, her ÅŸeyi söylemek istiyordu. An?n bask?s?, tela?? insana her zaman hedefini ÅŸa??rt?yordu. Sözcükler telaÅŸ ve heyecanla yanlara kaç?yor, istenilen hedefe ulaÅŸam?yordu. Ä°nsan, bedenin bu heyecanlar?n?, sözcüklerle nas?l anlatabilirdi? Aradaki boÅŸluÄŸu nas?l anlatabilirdi? Duyumsayan insan?n zihni deÄŸil, bedeni idi.

Here was a woman about the year 1800 writing without hate, without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching. That was how Shakespeare wrote

The sound of the trumpets died away and Orlando stood stark naked. No human being, since the world began, has ever looked more ravishing. His form combined in one the strength of a man and a woman's grace.

Virginia Woolf

I keep my phrases hung like clothes in a cupboard, waiting for someone to wear them.

For it is a curious fact that though human beings have such imperfect means of communication, that they can only say 'good to eat' when they mean 'beautiful' and the other way about, they will yet endure ridicule and misunderstanding rather than keep any experience to themselves.

She was haunted by the ghosts of phrases. She gave herself up to a sensual delight in the combinations of words. She sought them in the pages of her favorite authors.

No, delightful as the pastime of measuring be, it is the most futile of all occupations, and to submit to the decrees of the measurers the most servile of attitudes. So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.

I should like to write four lines at a time, describing the same feeling, as a musician does; because it always seems to me that things are going on at so many different levels simultaneously.

que una mujer necesita dinero y una habitación propia para dedicarse a la literatura;

It seemed a mere toss-up whether she said, 'I love you, or whether she said, 'I love the beech-trees,' or only 'I love--I love.

She was, on the contrary, inclined to be silent; she shrank from expressing herself even in talk, let alone in writing.

Poiché una volta che il baco dei libri si è impadronito del sistema umano, lo indebolisce tanto che esso diventa una facile preda per quell'altro flagello, quello che si annida in fondo ai calamai e i cui germi pullulano in cima alla penna. La vittima incomincia a scrivere.

But what are stories? Toys I twist, bubbles I blow, one ring passing through another. And sometimes I begin to doubt if there are stories.

O verde na natureza é uma coisa, o verde na literatura é outra. A natureza e as letras parecem ter uma antipatia visceral; junte as duas, e se estraçalham mutuamente.

Yet even when they were freed from the practical impediments imposed upon their sex, they could not write because they had no tradition to follow. No sentence had been shaped, by long labor, to express the experience of women.