Quotes About Expression

He wished for access to all the world's languages at once, for then he would have a better word for how he felt and what she was.

Only two things kept her from loathing him. The expression on his face when he'd said, France. And the expression on his face when he'd said, home.

Would you be shocked? she asked him. If you ate your lunch? I might be. If my mother was an opera dancer. On the contrary. I'd be delighted. He looked up and smiled at her expression. Come now, Miss Makepeace. Very little shocks me. Except the word 'wife,' she said tartly.

she would be incapable of not broaching. It took

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.

the man of my dreams is a girl.

muttered. "Your husband

It's no small matter to cross an ocean,Chagall said. More can be lost than canvas and paint. An artist must bear witness, Monsieur Fry. He cannot turn away, even if he wished to. An artist cannot bear witness if he's dead.

reading was how I got my ya-yas out.

The loon started smacking her forehead with the heel of her palm. Fuck! she yelled. Fuck! FUCK!

Oggigiorno, chiunque disponga di uno scalcinato laptop e di un accesso a Internet può fare sentire il proprio grido barbarico, qualunque sia il suo motore propulsore. Ma, sorpresa!, per ogni persona che ha qualcosa da dire sembra ci sia almeno qualcun altro disposto ad ascoltare. E, in qualche caso, non si tratta nemmeno di parenti.

I had just wanted to be part of a story; I wanted to be a person who had a story to tell.

In the meantime, I hope you will not consign her to a windowless environment populated entirely by unsocialized clones who long ago abandoned the reading and discussion of literature in favor of creating ever more restrictive and meaningless ways in which humans are intended to make themselves known to one another.

He was sitting not far away, watching me, and I surprised a smile on his face, the first real smile I had ever seen him give, a smile that curved and softened the tight mouth, and warmed the ice-cool eyes; a smile that brought the blood to my face and made my heart turn over.

I told you once," said Red, "that I wanted to hear your voice. I did not think the first words I would hear would be these." "Those were not the first words," I whispered, fighting tears. I would not weep.

His touch was like a bard's on his instrument, and it awakened a deep and mysterious music in my body.

A tale can start in many ways. Thus, it is many tales, and at the same time each of these is but one way of telling the same story.

But in a song or a tale, anything is possible

I could not bear his expression. That look said, this is a long good-bye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.

Worldview is not based on books; it is an internal form, which at times in a person with little education is expressed much more brightly, than in some other intellectual or scientist.

To write and not tell the truth? That would be death for any writer. But more, it would be death to the imagination. And if the imagination dies, what would happen to the souls of children?

Often, the human animal dresses terror in rage, and expresses both in a way unlike either.

Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.

We must make language accountable to the truths of our experience.