Quotes About Expression

they must live their most creative lives as a means of fighting back against the ruthless furnace of this world.

We're all related, after all, so there's going to be some repetition of creative instinct. Everything reminds us of something. But once you put your own expression and passion behind an idea, that idea becomes yours.

Attempts at originality can often feel forced and precious, but authenticity has quiet resonance that never fails to stir me.

Whenever anybody tells me they want to write a book in order to help other people, I always think, Oh, please don't. Please don't try to help me.

A sad-faced Russian woman tells us she's treating herself to Italian lessons because I think I deserve something beautiful.

Pero si pudiera hacerme unos pantalones con la hierba de este jardín lo haría

My friend Kate once went to a concert of Mongolian throat singers who were traveling through New York City on a rare world tour. Although she couldn't understand the words to their songs, she found the music almost unbearably sad. After the concert, Kate approached the lead Mongolian singer and asked, What are your songs about? He replied, Our songs are about the same things that everyone else's songs are about: lost love, and somebody stole your fastest horse.

The simple little words came easily, fitting themselves to the tune that had come out of the harpsichord. It didn't seem to her that she made them up at all. It seemed to her that they flew in from the rose-garden, through the open window, like a lot of butterflies, poised themselves on the point of her pen, and fell off it on to the paper.

In art it is not often possible to make direct use of your dreams of tomorrow and your excuses for yesterday.

Making a living is nothing, the great difficulty is making a point, making a difference - with words.

Finally he turned his head toward her face and brushed a kiss over her cheek. "I love you and I believe with all my heart that you love me as well. Why can't you say it, Hero?

Please remember that just because love isn't expressed doesn't mean it isn't felt.

Really, sometimes it would be much easier if one were allowed to simply hit gentlemen over the head.

Fuck, you mean? His eyes narrowed to slits.Make love. Make love to me. Now

Fuck, you mean? His eyes narrowed to slits.Make love. Make love to me. Now

Fuck, you mean?His eyes narrowed to slits. Make love. Make love to me. Now

People seem to believe that despair is the same as anguish, but it is not. It's true that despair is surrounded by anguish, but at its core, despair is a silent, blank page.

I don't think painters have the answers about a painting except the painting itself. Anyway, a painting has to have some kind of mystery to it to make it work.

Her lack of maidenly scruple would have amused me at another moment, but just now her face was so grimly determined that I could only wonder what she had in mind. Nothing could have been less seductive, anyway, than her expression at that moment.

Manchmal gibt es kaum etwas Schwierigeres, als zu jemandem zu sprechen, der ueber die Macht des Schweigens verfuegt.

Never before had I known the sudden quiver of understanding that travels from word to brain to heart, the way a new language can move, coil, swim into life under the eyes, the almost savage leap of comprehension, the instantaneous, joyful release of meaning, the way the words shed their printed bodies in a flash of heat and light. Since then I have known this moment

People seem to believe that despair is the same as anguish, but it is not. It's true that despair is surrounded by anguish, but at its core, despair is silent, a blank page.

I recently heard a great writer say that an essential element in the life of a writer is to have been an outsider in childhood, to have been given the gift of not belonging.

Your lesson in this lifetime is to find and trust your own precious voice.