Quotes About Expression

Hello there dandelions, fuck off! Chop go the heads with a cut of the stick excuse me just what do you think you're doing clip clip chop chop aaargh! what the fuck is going on where's our heads? Hee-yup!, I said and away again.

she said and gives me this look you'd think she was dying for a shite but was holding it in.

Di solito vogliono che tu tenga la bocca chiusa, a volte pretendono che gridi, e si aspettano che tu sappia la differenza. Era questo che trovava buffo.

De tous les caractères d'imprimerie, il m'avait dit qu'il préférait les points de suspensions.

Je me rends compte aujourd'hui qu'il m'a fallu écrire deux cents pages pour capter, inconsciemment, un vague reflet de la réalité.

Stories are the wildest things of all. Stories chase and bite and hunt.

You can't say everything, so you don't say nothing.

Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.

Ow, Todd? Ow?

And she says, "Then let's just take the effing road and get ourselves to Haven." I smile, a little. "You said effing ," I say. "You actually said the word effing .

I feel like I'm way down this deep, deep hole and I'm looking up and all there is is this little dot of light and I have to shout at the top of my lungs for anyone to hear me and even when I do, I say the wrong thing or they don't really listen or they're just humouring me.

Except I didn't say eff

He's a woman. He's a grown woman He's a old woman.

I'm just a girl." "It is tragic how well you have been taught to say that with sadness rather than triumph.

Girls are small and polite and smiley. They wear dresses and their hair is long and it's pulled into shapes behind their heads or on either side.

She looks at me. She does. She.

Her accent's funny, different from mine, different from anyone in Prentisstown's. Her lips make different kinds of outlines for the letters, like they're swooping down on them from above, pushing them into shape, telling them what to say. In Prentisstown, everyone talks like they're sneaking up on their words, ready to club them from behind.

What else is there to say?Everything and nothing. You can't say everything, so you don't say nothing.

Poo" Manchee barks quielty to himself. "Poo, poo, poo." "Just have yer stupid poo and quit yapping about it.

And I look right into his eyes, right into him as far as I can see, because I want him to hear me, I want him to hear me with everything I mean and feel and say.

I began to feel that itch that every writer longs for: the itch to start getting words down, the itch to tell a story.

You do not write your life with words, the monster said. You write it with actions.

Close enough so I can see the smile, a smile I know full well, a smile that clubs, a smile that beats, a smile that dominates.

Give him numbers, he's great. Give him words and sentences to put together and his forehead creases down so you can see exactly what he'll look like when he's eighty.