Quotes About Expression

Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is color that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense.

Do you see the invisible spirals on the margins of the page? I thought I would run out of paper. It was the pens that ran out

English was jazz music, German was classical music, French was ecclesiastical music, and Spanish was the music from the streets.

You speak with warm marbles in your mouth. You have an Indian accent

Doesn't the telling of something always become a story?

To her, writing is making stock and reading is sipping broth, but only the spoken word is the full roasted chicken.

Henry had written a novel because there was a hole in him that needed filling, a question that needed answering, a patch of canvas that needed painting—that blend of anxiety, curiosity and joy that is at the origin of art—and he had filled the hole, answered the question, splashed colour on the canvas, all done for himself, because he had to. Then complete strangers told him that his book had filled a hole in them, had answered a question, had brought colour to their lives.

Love is a house with many rooms, this room to feed the love, this one to entertain it, this one to clean it, this one to dress it, this one to allow it to rest, and each of these rooms can also just as well also be the room for laughing or the room for listening or the room for telling one's secrets or the room for sulking or the room for apologizing or the room for intimate togetherness...

The man told Henry that the only native talent needed to play music well was joy.

Stories identify, unify, give meaning to. Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is colour that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense.

English's drive to exploit the new and the alien, its zeal in robbing words from other languages, its incapacity to feel qualms over the matter, its museum-size overabundance of vocabulary, its shoulder-shrug approach to spelling, its don't-worry-be-happy concern for grammar—the result was a language whose colour and wealth Henry loved.

Art is water, and just as humans are always close to water, for reasons of necessity (to drink, to wash, to flush away, to grow) as well as for reasons of pleasure (to play in, to swim in, to relax in front of, to sail upon, to suck on frozen, coloured and sweetened), so humans must always be close to art in all its incarnations, from the frivolous to the essential. Otherwise we dry up.

I wish I could convey the perfection... But language founders in such seas

Music is the true breath of life. We eat so we won't starve to death. We sing so we can hear ourselves live.

Sarà per via dell'Antrios, sarà stato l'acquisto dell'Antrios?... No... Il male viene da molto più lontano... Viene dal giorno in cui hai usato, senza un briciolo di ironia, il termine decostruzione, riferendoti a un oggetto d'arte. E non è stato il termine decostruzione a irritarmi, ma la gravità con cui l'hai pronunciato. Lo hai detto, amico mio, con solennità, con convinzione, senza la minima ironia: decostruzione .

Again she lost herself in the talk, and again her words seemed to be warming her whole body.

Oh, to be laughed at when I have the courage to speak my heart. I don't want to live in a world like this. -from Diary of My Sixteenth Year

My novel has found a beautiful soul. How shall I write it? Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words...

if you wanna be somebody be yourself dont try to be anybody your not

Humankind, with its long history, is by now a corpse bound to a tree with the ropes of convention. If the ropes were cut, the corpse would simply fall to the ground. Prayer in one's mother tongue is a manifestation of that pathetic state. -from A Prayer in the Mother Tongue

The labor into which a heart has poured its whole love—where will it have its say, to excite and inspire, and when?

Exact, chiar asta voiam s?-È›i spun! EÈ™ti ca un poet simbolist dep??it de epoc?. Din crâmpeie de È™tiin?? tu vrei s? faci cuvintele unui cântec, dar È™tiinÈ›a nu ofer? simboluri pentru sentimentele unei femei.

Ciudate mai sunt lacrimile oamenilor!

Look, just as time isn't inside clocks love isn't inside bodies: bodies only tell the love.