Quotes About Expression

Mocho was a Spanish word that meant maimed or referred to something that had been lopped off like a stump. To call Homer el mocho was, essentially, to call him "Stumpy" or "the maimed one." It doesn't sound particularly flattering, but among Spanish speakers the giving of nicknames is tantamount to a declaration of love. Things that would sound insulting outright in English were tokens of deep affection when said in Spanish.

Being in a band you can wear whatever you want — it's like an excuse for Halloween everyday.

He says,'Why is it love, Esther? Why call it that?' 'Because. Why is what you do art? Because you say so.

Michael, there in front of me. Each expression of helpless submission or bored compliance. This was him. How he passed. And living like that, of course, you would now and then end up with fiancees which had to be shaken off.

My voice got dull. I spoke like a machine that was running down, while he seemed only to gain energy.

What shall I say, how is the truth to be said? You were born, you had body, you died. It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May."

I am interested in telling my particular truth as I have seen it.

Wherever life can grow, it will. It will sprout out, and do the best it can. I give you what I have. You don't get all your questions answered in this world. How many answers shall be found in the developing world of my Poem? I don't know. Nevertheless I put my Poem, which is my life, into your hands, where it will do the best it can.

My Poem is life, and not finished. It shall never be finished. My Poem is life, and can grow.

To create - a role, a poem, picture, music, a rapture in stone: great. But not for her. What she wanted was to donate to the world a good Maud Martha. That was the offering, the bit of art, that could not come from any other. She would polish and hone that.

If you scream, you're marked "insane." But silence is a place in which to scream!

Books are meat and medicine and flame and flight and flower steel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air." ? Gwendolyn Brooks

Poetry comes out of life.

Writing is a delicious agony.

I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker.

Books are meat and medicine and flame and flight and flower steel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air.

Poetry is life distilled.

Very early in life I became fascinated with the wonders language can achieve. And I began playing with words.

I shall create! If not a note, a hole./If not an overture, a desecration.

Each body has its art...

Here is a book of tongues. Take it. (Dark leaves invade the air.) Beware! I now know a language so beautiful and lethal My mouth bleeds when I speak it.

A language so beautiful and lethal My mouth bleeds when I speak it.—

Beauty is frequently symbolized in the person of a girl--sometimes passive, sometimes aggressive, but always passionate, although the passions may be only hinted at and expressed through traditional erotic symbolism.