Quotes About Words

He let her have the silence while she selected her words.

He drew a long, slow breath, tasting mold and wet upon it, and shaped the well-loved words.

Nothing could touch Will in the void: he knew somehow that he needed poetry, needed the power of his words, but in his jumbled consciousness he could not put one line of a poem with another.

It all came out on a rush, which was probably a mistake, I reckoned, looking at their faces. I should of been chewing on my words some, so everybody else would have had a better chance of swallowing them.

Technomancy, which had been in old days the magic of letters and forged things, and was now the magic of words and machines and miscroscopic knives and wires.

You can't derange, or rearrange, your poems again. (But the sparrows can their song.) The words won't change again. Sad friend, you cannot change.

Language seldom fails quietly, it fails noisily.

La civilización no me impresionó. En todas partes la mejor aportación del hombre a la creación me parecía tan lamentablemente insuficiente como las palabras que tengo para describirla.

the alchemy of grief transforms the most awkward phrases into sentiments of purest gold..

It seemed to them dreadfully dangerous to put it into words like that, for lately the things they didn't want to happen were the things that happened and the logic of this was that if you pretended not to want what you really wanted dreadfully you would be more likely to get it.

To search for colours, fumble for words, Strive to catch in earthly song The echo of greater music, To fail with heartbreak and give The heartbreaks to each other with our love, Can this be why we live?

Poetry] was a form of incantation, a means of welding the world inside his head to the one that surrounded him, words the fiery chain that bound it all together.

Don't make promises you can't keep

I loved the physicality of books just as much as the stories inside, the feel of pages between my fingers, the intricacies of classic fonts winding along the neatly lined rows of words.

I remembered how it had been first learning to read, how the squiggles of print finally organized themselves slowly and painfully into words, then pieced together into sentences with meaning. Now, for the first time, the squiggles were releasing actual worlds... All of them surfacing from the page so real that when I finally closed my eyes, I was amazed their lives didn't continue around me. A whole world somehow tucked back into the book, waiting for me to set it free.

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.

Just sing me your song. Teach me the words. Tell me what you know.

Sarah Payne said, If there is a weakness in your story, address it head-on, take it in your teeth and address it, before the reader really knows. This is where you will get your authority, she said, during one of those classes when her face was filled with fatigue from teaching. I feel that people may not understand that my mother could never say the words I love you. I feel that people may not understand: It was all right.

Well, this, and this, and this have happened. It would not be accurate as told. She thought nothing could be told and be accurate. Feeble words dropped earnestly and haphazardly over the large stretched-out fabric of a life with all its knots and bumps— What words would she use to spread her experience before him?

she'd have been throwing out clamshells, most likely.

Rhythm. Life is full of it; words should have it, too. But you have to train your ear. Listen to the waves on a quiet night; you'll pick up the cadence. Look at the patterns the wind makes in dry sand and you'll see how syllables in a sentence should fall. Arthur Gordon

Wise sayings often fall on barren ground, but a kind word is never thrown away.

Here lay hidden the secret of the sensuous art of literature; it was the secret of suggestion, the art of causing delicious sensation by the use of words.

Eu înÅ£eleg,dar neputând da explicaÅ£ii f?r? a folosi cuvinte p?gâne,aÅŸ prefera s? tac.