Quotes About Expression

These partygoers hadn't been the cool kids growing up. They'd spent their adolescence buried in art books, scrawling poems into steno pads during recess, living full stories in their heads. Distracted by their artistic micro-obsessions, many forgot to learn how to engage with the world. They were too busy studying life, storing up their notes to use later in a novel, a song, a script, a painting. They were observers, not joiners.

One of the problems with shutting down feeling is that we begin to live in our heads. We tell ourselves a story about what we think we're feeling or what we think we should be feeling rather than feeling our genuine emotions and allowing words to grow out of them so we can accurately describe our inner experience. When we can feel our feelings and then translate them into language, we can use our reasoning ability to play a role in regulating our emotional experience.

we're expressing in our adult lives the anger we had to hold in as children. Our anger might also be acting as a defense against deeper feelings of pain and helplessness. We need to get to the root so that we can change the pattern.

The trouble with taking writing seriously, is that the more seriously you take it the harder it is to write. Possibly I take writing more seriously than any other human being that has ever lived.

Tell me what you listen to, and I'll tell you who you are.

I didn't write that song to try and win you over, or to steal you away from him. I wrote it because I knew I never could.

I'd be a sucker for a guy who wrote me a song," I said. "Like Beth or Rosanna or Sara. Or Sharona. Is that too much to ask? To be somebody's Sharona?

It sounds silly I know. But for me, the power of music rests in its ability to reach inside and touch the places where the deepest cuts lie. Like a benevolent god, a good song will never let you down.

If you have a desire to write, that means there's stuff in you that wants out. And if you don't write things down, you just forget them.

I'm almost thirty and my day job is folding shirts at the Gap. Have you seen my room? I'm not messy. I'm rebelling against folding.

He's more than just a good-looking guy and you know it." But, I thought, he doesn't have flashlight eyes or a cocky-bastard smile that can boil water or a voice from the heavens and most of all he says things like, It's only rock 'n' roll.

Popular music is a microcosm of the culture, Eliza. It reflects the mentality of the population.

The world is filled with people who are no longer needed—and who try to make slaves of all of us—and they have their music and we have ours. Theirs, the wasted songs of a superstitious nightmare—and without their musical and ideological miscar-riages to compare our Song of freedom to, we'd not have any opposite to compare music with—and like the drifting wind, hitting against no obstacle, we'd never knows its speed, its power.

Some people think art is pretending, but to me it's the opposite. It's the one place where you can't pretend.

He turned and looked up at me with the face of a needy child and the eyes of an ancient shaman.

Thank heaven for the wisdom of the prophets of rock 'n' roll.

Fuck, it's hot in here." He put the guitar down, stood up, whipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Then he pulled off his belt like D'Artagnan drawing a sword...

He believed that any work an artist puts forth which contains the truth as he or she sees it is worthy of consideration

The only thing I remember about him now is that he shaved his legs. I was surprised at how much I dug the shaved legs. "Thanks for sharing," Jacob said. I hadn't realized I'd been thinking aloud.

A song." I said aloud. "What?" "The whole time Adam and I were together, he never wrote a song for me." Vera looked like she was trying to think of an appropriate response to such a stupid desire. "He was a drummer. You hate it when drummers sing.

He thought suffering was cool. He thought it made him a better writer.

You should do it, Trixie. It's good for your soul. If you have a desire to write, that means there's stuff in you that wants out. And if you don't write things down, you just forget them," he said. "Think of all the stuff you've forgotten over the course of your lifetime." "How can I think of it if I've forgotten it?" "My point exactly.

So far, I've only discovered four things that make life worth living for me. My work is one of them." "What are the other three?" Jacob wanted to know. "Music, books, and sex," I said. "Not necessarily in that order." His eyebrows

Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog-Flavored Water.