Quotes About Expression

Oh, how your ears flap and your long nose twitches!

Charles liked poetry because the lines were so short. You could think your own thoughts in the spaces around the print.

You know the way they have mouths that don't seem to smile in the same way as normal people's.

It's like life," Clennen said. "You may wonder what goes on inside, but what matters is the look of it and the kind of performance we give.

If you annoy me, watch out! I shall put you in a book as a baddie and then make people laugh at you.

How can love's spaciousness be conveyed in the narrow confines of one syllable?

As fleeting emotions stalk it, a face can leak fear or the guilt of a forming lie.

Words are small shapes in the gorgeous chaos of the world. But they are shapes, they bring the world into focus, they corral ideas, they hone thoughts, they paint watercolors of perception.

It's like having a head full of holes, in which the perfect repository of words have shamed themselves, he lamented.

Writing, which is my form of celebration and prayer, is also my form of inquiry.

For if I won't leap up and ride, who will? And, if no one will ride, when at last the spangly caravan is over, silence rules, and we are left staring across an empty street into the blank of each other's eyes, who will tell about the drums and the cartwheels of light? Who will say what marvel it was swept by?

They spend their whole lives yelling at the world and each other. They yell at their loved ones, they yell at their enemies, they yell at their dinner, they yell at the big bustling world.

A frog croaked a deep throaty I am .

For me, the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture.

One thing that struck me early is that you don't put into a photograph what's going to come out. Or, vice versa, what comes out is not what you put in.

I would never choose a subject for what it means to me. I choose a subject and then what I feel about it, what it means, begins to unfold.

Sometimes it was hard to express how much you loved someone. You said the words, but you could never quite capture the depth of it. You could never quite hold someone tightly enough.

He spoke in incomplete sentences, as though he had so much he wanted to say that he needed to leave out some of the words to save time.

When one is nothing, one invents. It fills a void.

There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner.

There are times when the human face and body can express the yearning of the heart so accurately that you can, as they say, read them like a book. Do not abandon me.

But she had that laugh, and the sound of it was so beautiful that when you heard it, it was as if your eyes saw her through your ears and she was transformed.

The funeral was over, at last I could cry. Except that I couldn't. My tears, kept in too long, had fossilized. They would have to stay in forever now.

My genius is not so frail a thing that it cowers from the dirty fingers of newspapernen.