Quotes About Blankness

When I write, the first blank page, or any blank page, means nothing to me. What means something is a page that has been filled with words.

Oh, what a void there is in things.

Fear is a habit like any other, and habits kill what is essential in ourselves. I was left with a kind of blankness, Jeffers, from those years of being afraid.

Nothing is hanging on my walls.

Let It Go It is this deep blankness is the real thing strange. The more things happen to you the more you can't Tell or remember even what they were. The contradictions cover such a range. The talk would talk and go so far aslant. You don't want madhouse and the whole thing there.

If you stare at the center of the universe, there is coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn't care about us. Time doesn't care about us. That's why we have to care about each other.

The fact is that blank pages inspire me with terror. What will I put on them? Will it be good enough? Will I have to throw it out?

it was like staring at a whitewashed wall, but without all the emotion

Kim Stanley Robinson

I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.

As if somehow the blankness of the walls fed off of silence, and that something might appear in the spaces between our words if we were not careful.

As if somehow the blankness of the walls fed off of silence, and that something might appear in the spaces between words if we were not careful.

The look on her face in the empty lot—that blankness—and then, later, in the sessions, the warring of contempt, wildness, casual vulnerability, and vehemence, strength. That had laid him low. That had expanded until it hooked into the whole of him, no part of him not committed.

I shut down again. I went blank. One minute I was spinning, and the next minute my mind was dragging itself around in a circle, like an old arthritic dog trying to lie down. And then I just turned off and went to sleep, but not sleep in the way you do every night. Think a long, dark sleep where you don't dream at all.

Es mi deseo aprovechar este maravilloso espacio en blanco de la hoja de papel

My answer would just be a word. A word which doesn't express a feeling, doesn't express an emotion, because I'm bereft of them. A word which would be nothing but the sound made when you strike a cold, empty skull.

There was something wonderful about a blank sheet of notepaper. The lines were there, just waiting to be filled, and the page could turn into anything from a grocery list to the opening of The Great American Novel. The possibilities were endless.

My favorite actors are people who I don't know anything about, and I can project any character onto them.

nothing here that

it was like staring at a whitewashed wall, but without all the emotion

He was empty of response. There was a hollow feeling

You know...that a blank wall is an apalling thing to look at. The wall of a museum -- a canvas -- a piece of film -- or a guy sitting in front of a typewriter. Then, you start out to do something -- that vague thing called creation. The beginning strikes awe within you.

To think blankness rouses certain terror and in the feeling the sudden sense of self responding down to the smallest unaided particle of its existence as answer to the blankness of sure nonexistence

Behind the studied blankness of her gaze, revolt must have been simmering. I recognized that surliness, that stubbornness, that captive-princess indignation, which must be kept hidden until enough weapons have been collected.