Quotes About Language

I have no leisure to think of style or of polish, or to select the best language, the best English - no time to shine as an authoress. I must just think aloud, so as not to keep the public waiting.

A poet is a time mechanic not an embalmer.

who has not experienced, at some time or other, that words had all the relief of tears?

I'm not good with time. Like, if I ask you the time and you say A quarter to 2, I wouldn't know. Why can't you just say 2:30?

rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this.

No human being ever spoke of scenery for above two minutes at a time, which makes me suspect that we hear too much of it in literature.

Language has time as its element; all other media have space as their element.

Yes" actually means "No" 100% of the time, when the question is "Can I give you some advice?

I like playing around with the words; I love it when I feel like I've picked the exact right word to describe whatever it is I'm trying to describe.

Epic poems were always best in French. Let's see. "Le troisième enfant dans les vêtements de ses ennemis

Uh, Lunitaris idish, shirak, damen du!

How would hating benefit me? The elves did what they had to do, and so did I. I learned how to sail their ships. I learned to speak their language fluently. No, as I've discovered, hate generally costs a man more than he can afford.

You cannot believe the loneliness', he said at last, so softly that Orla was forced to move closer to him to hear. 'The mensch are so very, very lonely. The only means they have of communicating are physical. They must rely on words or a look or a gesture to describe what they feel, and their languages are so limited. Most of the time, they are unable to express what they truly mean, and so they live their lives and die without ever knowing the truth, about themselves or others.

a writer is a foreign country

Words don't change their shape, they change their meaning, their function...They don't have a meaning of their own any more, they refer to other words that you don't know, that you've never read or heard...you've never seen their shape, but you feel...you suspect...they correspond to...an empty space inside you...or in the universe...

Écrire, c'est aussi ne pas parler. C'est se taire. C'est parler sans bruit.

Écrire, c'est hurler sans bruit.

La parola scritta m'ha insegnato ad ascoltare la voce umana, press'a poco come gli atteggiamenti maestosi e immoti delle statue m'hanno insegnato ad apprezzare i gesti degli uomini. Viceversa, con l'andar del tempo, la vita m'ha chiarito i libri.

Ho amato quella lingua per la sua flessibilità di corpo allenato, la ricchezza del vocabolario nel quale a ogni parola si afferma il contatto diretto e vario della realtà, l'ho amata perché quasi tutto quel che gli uomini han detto di meglio è stato detto in greco.

I meno abili, in mancanza di parole e di frasi nelle quali racchiuderla, colgono, della vita, un'immagine povera e piatta; Altri l'appesantiscono, l'ammantano di una dignità che non possiede. Altri ancora, al contrario, l'alleggeriscono, ne fanno una palla vuota e saltellante, che è facile prendere e lanciare in un universo senza peso.

La palabra escrita me enseñó a escuchar la voz humana, un poco como las grandes actitudes inmóviles de las estatuas me enseñaron a apreciar los gestos. En cambio, y posteriormente, la vida me aclaró los libros.

Celui qui prétend se souvenir mot pour mot d'une conversation m'a toujours paru un menteur ou un mythomane. Il ne me reste jamais que des bribes, un texte plein de trous, comme un document mangé des vers. Mes propres paroles, même à l'instant où je les prononce, je ne les entends pas. Quand à celles de l'autre, elles m'échappent, et je ne me souviens que du mouvement d'une bouche à portée de mes lèvres. (p. 202-203)

Les mots trompent, puisque celui de plaisir couvre des réalités contradictoires, comporte à la fois les notions de tiédeur, de douceur, d'intimité des corps, et celles de violence, d'agonie et de cri. La petite phrase obscène de Poseidonius sur le frottement de deux parcelles de chair [...] ne définit pas plus le phénomène de l'amour que la corde touchée du doigt ne rend compte du miracle des sons.

Does poetry - or language or philosophy or music or architecture, even that of our temples - really need to dance to the same tune as our political beliefs or our religious convictions? Is the strict harmony of our cultural identities a virtue to be valued above others that may come from the accommodation of contradictions?