Quotes About Expression

I believe that a writer is a person who writes. An author is a person who has written.

It is not possible to translate a language that does not exist.

Our poems are what the gods couldn't make without going through us.

Maybe poems are made of breath, the way water, cajoled to boil, says, This is my soul, freed. — Dean Young, from "Scarecrow on Fire

There are no ordinary feelings just as there are no ordinary spring days or kicked-over cans of paint. Are feelings ever succinct? The haiku is quick but its ripples to the horizon go.

Only women are ever called persnickety," Mary Alice said. "Men get to be 'detail oriented.

Will you write?" I asked. "Probably not. The pen is a demanding mistress. I take delight in thwarting her expectations.

Gentlemen are champion sulkers so long as one doesn't call the behavior by that name.

Lord Templeton-Vane bared his teeth in what a stupid person might have mistaken for a smile.

Yes, but you usually aren't ... Well, I have to keep them covered or else you lose the power of speech

Now and then, so fleeting I could almost believe it my own fancy, each of them had looked at Stoker with something akin to jealousy. I was not surprised. It was the same expression frequently aimed in my direction, usually by women with too many children and too much time spent embroidering tea cloths. To make one's own money, to direct one's own destiny, these were heady gifts indeed.

Deanna Raybourn

That is the essence of painting, child. To capture something utterly temporary and conjure permanence.

It was as close as an aristocratic Englishman could come to expressing real emotion, but it was enough for the princess. She pressed his hand.

I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.'" "A

I can only quote Xenocrates, dear lady. 'I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.

The wind rose here, as plangent as a human voice crying out.

I would have spoken, had my heart not been in my throat

My subconscious speaks in a foreign language.

No, Mom. I said fine." "It's just your tone." Ah, yes- the tone. The nasty traitor.

I put the guitar back in the case. I can't even look at it anymore. Instead, I want to make brownies. I want an end result there's a recipe for. I want to combine eggs and water and oil and chocolate and flour and sugar and vanilla and get something fulfilling.

You look so good," I say, and s***! Oh god, that's not what I meant. S***! "It looks good. The book.

Because words were hills and valleys you traveled, so lovely sometimes that they hurt your eyes.

But then there are the van Goghs and Hemingways and Mozarts, those who feel a hunger so deep, so far down, that greatness lies there too, nestled somewhere within it. Those who get their inner voice and direction from the cool mysterious insides of the moon, and not from the earth like the rest of us.