Quotes About Expression

We can't have freedom unless we have freedom. And that means freedom to speak our minds.

If only he had a way with words he

I started writing to please myself, a story I would like to read, and that is still true.

Te amo, Jondalar. Siento amor cuando sonríes así, con esos ojos, y muchísimo más cuando ríes. Nadie reía en el Clan y no les gustaba que yo riera. No quiero vivir nunca con gente que no me permita sonreír o reír.

Suddenly, just as the rain began to fall in earnest, he sat down and howled.

A frown creased Ayla's forehead. She remembered he had used that word to describe her when she used her sling, and she wasn't sure if she understood the word the way he used it. "Are you artist?" she asked. He made a wry grimace. Her question had touched at the heart of an issue about which he had strong feelings.

La mano y la vista hacen al artista.

said. "Make Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Noria Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Make Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â She heaved a sob, wishing she knew the words to tell him what she wanted to say. "I know, Noria. I know," he said

Works of art were not just the finished product, but the thought, the action, the process that created them.

Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.

a writer should not allow himself to be turned into an institution

No se es escritor por haber elegido decir ciertas cosas, sino por la forma en que se digan

I had thought out this sentence, at first it had been a small part of myself. Now it was inscribed on the paper, it took sides against me. I didn't recognize it any more. I couldn't conceive it again. It was there, in front of me; in vain for me to trace some sign of its origin. Anyone could have written it. But I ... I wasn't sure I wrote it. The letters glistened no longer, they were dry. That had disappeared too; nothing was left but their ephemeral spark.

I do not think therefore I am a moustache

Lola was beside him , soft and very warm, and Boris could not bring himself to utter the slightest word, his voice was dead. 'Just as though I were dumb.' It was delicious, his voice was floating at the far end of his throat, soft as cotton, and could not emerge, for it was dead.

It was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning up through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what it's like to try to speak from under water when you're drowned?

Every word I say has chains round its ankles; every thought I think is weighted with heavy weights. Since I was born, hasn't every word I've said, every thought I've thought, everything I've done, been tied up, weighted, chained? And mind you, I know that with all this I don't succeed. Or I succeed in flashes only too damned well. ...But think how hard I try and how seldom I dare. Think - and have a bit of pity. That is, if you ever think, you apes, which I doubt.

I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.

I'm no use to anybody,' I say. 'I'm a cérébrale, can't you see that?' Thinking how funny a book would be, called 'Just a Cérébrale or You Can't Stop Me From Dreaming'. Only, of course, to be accepted as authentic, to carry any conviction, it would have to be written by a man. What a pity, what a pity!

I will write my name in fire red.

She lifted her eyes. Blank, lovely eyes. Mad eyes. A mad girl.

Everything in their whole bloody world is a cliché. Everything is born out of a cliché, rests on a cliché, survives by a cliché. And they believe in the clichés - there's no hope.

Está muy disgustado porque nunca le das un beso. La contradije: —Pues no pone cara de disgustado. —Es un grave error juzgar por la cara, en uno u otro sentido.

She had meant to tell him: 'I love you. You aren't making any mistake about that, are you?' But all she said was: 'Please will you draw the curtains?