Quotes About Expression

Ce baiser était comme de l'art moderne.

Peut-on se soigner en se confiant à un tableau ? On parle bien d'art-thérapie, de créer pour exprimer son malaise, pour se comprendre à travers les intuitions de l'inspiration. Mais c'était différent. Pour Antoine, la contemplation de la était un pansement sur la laideur. Il en avait toujours été ainsi. Quand il se sentait mal, il allait se promener dans un musée. Le merveilleux demeurait la meilleure arme contre la fragilité.

How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it's just words.

What the really great artists do is they're entirely themselves. They're entirely themselves, they've got their own vision, they have their own way of fracturing reality, and if it's authentic and true, you will feel it in your nerve endings.

Out of the closet, I had found my natural place on the androgyny quadrant of the gender matrix. I wore my hair long and hung a pair of chandelier earrings on my ears. My sexual orientation, which had always been self-evident, in the words of Quentin Crisp, was also self-claimed.

The spiritual life of one person should never be a carbon copy of that of another. Peter and John had quite different personalities and quite different transformational journeys as they followed Jesus. Mary and Martha, two sisters whom Jesus loved deeply, each expressed their love for him uniquely. And he received both, not discouraging Martha from busying herself in service, simply encouraging her to not fret in doing so (Luke 10:38-42).

God's will for us is that we live out the harmonious expression of our gifts, temperament, passions and vocation in truthful dependence on God.

Act happy. We can sometimes act ourselves into a frame of mind. Manipulated into a smiling expression, people feel better; when they scowl, the whole world seems to scowl back. So put on a happy face. Talk as if you feel positive self-esteem, are optimistic, and are outgoing. Going through the motions can trigger the emotions.

superb group of mind-mindful novelists at work today: Philip Roth and Martin Amis, Cynthia Ozick, Jenny Erpenbeck, John Banville, V. S. Naipaul, and J. M. Coetzee—to start.

Drawing things makes them seem more real and makes me feel more alive. It also makes me pin down and remember things - landscapes, season, weather, occasions, incidents, people - that would otherwise have melted from my memory.

To say that a writer's hold on reality is tenuous is an understatement-it's like saying the Titanic had a rough crossing. Writer's build their own realities, move into them and occasionally send letters home. The only difference between a writer and a crazy person is that a writer gets paid for it.

A work of art is an act of love. Critics are crab lice.

My body may be male or it may be female, but I am neither — I am me.

What are other people to us? Material. The stuff of our work. Whom do we love more, the girl or the portrait, the thing we've made of her? We artists, we're not quite human, are we? We love no one.

Poetry is anything you read out loud alone.

He tried to draw a woman and it looked like a house. He tried to draw a man and it looked like a really old house. He tried to draw a house and it looked like a fucked-up cow.

Freedom is our ability to make things up just for the sake of being able to do so.

When and how did we come to believe that creativity was supposed to be painful

Equality here is a direct extension of freedom; indeed, is its expression. It also has almost nothing in common with the more familiar (Eurasian) notion of 'equality before the law', which is ultimately equality before the sovereign – that is, once again, equality in common subjugation.

Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so.

he could finally give himself to emotions that he had held in check all during his early life.

Swearing is like any other music...If it is not done well, if it is not done with a fine and discriminating art, and vitalized with gracious and heartborn feeling, it lacks beauty, it lacks charm, it lacks expression, it lacks nobleness, it lacks majesty...

She had not yet sensed the pea beneath the pile of mattresses, the pea that belonged to the little brown-skinned girl who used to make up stories to keep her soul pinned down inside her or, at times, to let it fly—stories whose most exciting element was the word "suddenly" at the beginning of every sentence and before each description: Suddenly, suddenly, her heart would leap when she whispered to herself, suddenly .

He falls quiet again and tries to understand how he can be saying these things, how it can be that his dark words are coming out into the light and yet he is still alive. At once he storms the doorway that has suddenly opened for him in the endless corridor in which he has been bumping around for years; words spill out, cut off, confused, ashamed, squeezing out.