Quotes About Expression

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Flip had written many volumes of poetry:

How did it sound?" asked Tom. "Awful! But it didn't matter how it sounded!" said Robin. "It was how it felt!

Auntie Flip had written many volumes of poetry:

All of those words are so rude I wouldn't dream of putting them in this book.

Up and down went the ends of the old man's moustache

My hopes was that by me writing my demons out, I'd be conquering one of the most important steps… admittance.

Risero entrambi, ricordandomi che sapevo parlare, quando ero dell'umore giusto. I miei ostacoli erano spesso miei, appunto.

Poetry is language against which you have no defenses.

Poetry is the art of overhearing ourselves say things from which it is impossible to retreat.

We each have a particular way of shaping ourselves in the world. To take on someone else's conversational style and to keep repeating other people's questions as if they were our own is to exhaust ourselves. It doesn't matter if it is the thoughts of Socrates or Susan Sontag. Read and admire, but then go back to first principles and ask the question yourself, in your own way. Dare to disagree.

Poetry: Language against which we have no defences.

In many ways love has already named us before we can even begin to speak back to it, before we can utter the right words or understand what has happened to us or is continuing to happen to us: an invitation to the most difficult art of all, to love without naming at all.

In building a work life, people who follow rules, written or unwritten, too closely and in an unimaginative way are often suffocated by those same rules and die by them, quite often unnoticed and very often unmourned.

Johan Cruyff was the first player who understood that he was an artist, and the first who was able and willing to collectivise the art of sports.

These pastoral-poet guys with their bleating goats and oaten pipes can stuff their phalaecean hendecasyllabics where the sun don't shine.

Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty, completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat. But I'm fucking empty. The person I was just one year ago no longer exists, drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there.

To make the private into something public is an action that has terrific repercussions in the pre-invented world.

If silence equals death, he taught us, then art equals language equals life.

Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty, completely empty and all they see is the visual form; my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat.

If silence equals death, then art equals language equals life." —David Wojnarowicz

John flung himself into a pseudo-karate stance, one hand poised behind him and one in front, posed like a cartoon cactus. I thought for an odd moment he had moved his limbs so fast they had made that whoosh sound through air but then I realized John was making that sound with his mouth.