Quotes About Expression

a twenty-year-old with braids and beads, with a large helping of soul and a sprinkle of classical.

With women poets we look at or into, but not up at, sacred things; we unlearn submission.

At a certain moment, women in cultures that glamorize their images and suffocate their minds, that set them on pedestals while requiring their silence and modesty, cease to be either silent or modest.

Acting is magical. Change your look and your attitude, and you can be anyone.

Design is intelligence made visible.

Dying is also an art and just like any other art it must be learned.

There are words, which should leave unspoken, and the true value of a man lies in the words the he has for not saying.

I'm making a statement about conformity." For or against?" That's for the viewer to decide. I'm an artist, not a preacher." Agnes Phiffer & Osbert Monk in The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn

As a song-writer, I write from the heart, soul and mind, not from lies.

compassionate humor is an expression of Human Spirit. As you battle your own most primitive, defensive reactions, there is no better weapon.

Kwaak! - Mimi

Grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief.

What would happen if we spoke the truth?

It's imprecise and insufficient, defining the homosexual as a person whose gender expression is at odds with his or her sex.

The writer's business is to find the shape in unruly life and to serve her story. Not, you may note, to serve her family, or to serve the truth, but to serve the story.

Again, the troubling gap between word and meaning. My feeble language skills could not bear the weight of such a laden experience.

Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

Your unconscious wants to express the pain you feel about your own lost innocence. But your ego wants to keep it repressed. To the compromise is anxiety.

Speak to me, fair maid! Speak and do not go! What sorrows have your eyes inlaid With such black woe? My dam is buried deep Dark are my father's halls And carrion fowl and wolves now keep Their ruined walls From: The Lay of Andomian and Beruldh

Music is my home.

Triple tongued is triple named

He smiles then exhales a tiny tornado. I wonder if his ribs are big enough for how he feels. His body is radiating something, but I can't tell what.

That's an interesting phrase, isn't it? Open up. Like you rip yourself open and let others see your insides.

He told me to tell him all the songs that make me cry. He wanted to know my favorite books, favorite movies, if my heart was ever broken and by whom . . . He said, 'I want to know everything that makes you you.