Quotes About Expression

Sugar flake that, yo. Snap, crackle, pop.

Hip-hop's always reached out to kids. If you look at the last 10 big albums it might seem ironic. But when I look at the history of this music it's always had a lot of positivity.

I'm not giving up my history and what I've done in my music because I love it and I'm very proud of it. I just want to open it up for more people.

We need to make sure that there's art in the school. Why? Why should art be in the school? Because if art isn't in a school, then a guy like Steve Jobs doesn't get a chance to really express himself because in order for art to meet technology, you need art.

All that writers can do is keep trying to say what is deepest in their hearts.

By remaining true to itself, grime and its immediate family of jungle, UK garage, dubstep and so on had taken up where Soul II Soul left off, and plugged in to how many youngsters really thought about their lives and their music.

Her voice was unusually deep toned for a girl, he thought. Girls were always screaming what they had to say. Her throaty voice made you feel you had known her a long time.

The speaking in perpetual hyperbole is comely in nothing but love.

Many a good poetic vein is buried under a trade, and never produces any thing for want of improvement.

He that uses his words loosely and unsteadily will either not be minded or not understood.

Neither the inveterateness of the mischief, nor the prevalency of the fashion, shall be any excuse for those who will not take care about the meaning of their own words, and will not suffer the insignificancy of their expressions to be inquired into.

Every man's first declaration of love is bathos--the zenith of his passion connoting perhaps the nadir of his intelligence.

Art is long, and the talk about it is even longer.

Women are cats ... and love to scratch even those they're fond of. Sometimes the more they love them the harder they scratch.

I string sounds together. But to string them I have to remember a bunch of old ones I heard somewhere and then juggle them into a new rhythm and shape.

I love you, A bushel and a peck, A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. Hug around a neck and a barrel and a heap, Barrel and a heap and I'm talking in my sleep.

Show me your Booty **** Oh Oh Oh Oh

Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find a face of his own.

There is one thing that matters -- to set a chime of words tinkling in the minds of a few fastidious people.

What pursuit is more elegant than that of collecting the ignominies of our nature and transfixing them for show, each on the bright pin of a polished phrase?

Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he's only trying on one face after another till he finds his own.

I sit on the bed. I remember a golden bracelet, thin gold, an apple with a bite taken out of it for the clasp, and the words "I Love You," and I take it out from the box of treasures under the bed. I remember Mama said, "I mean it. Though we never say it in this family," as she put the bracelet around my wrist last Christmas. And I still believe her, what she said about love. We just never say it in this family.

A pause. It might have been pregnant. I've never been sure how to tell if a silence has conceived or not.

If you don't scare the neighbors while copulating, I'm afraid you're doing something terribly wrong.