Quotes About Words

I never knew words could be so confusing, Milo said to Tock as he bent down to scratch the dog's ear. Only when you use a lot to say a little, answered Tock. Milo thought this was quite the wisest thing he'd heard all day.

Ah, this is fine, he cried triumphantly, holding up a small medallion on a chain. He dusted it off, and engraved on one side were the words WHY NOT? That's a good reason for almost anything - a bit used perhaps, but still quite serviceable.

Oh dear, all those words again, thought Milo as he climbed into the wagon with Tock and the cabinet members. How are you going to make it move? It doesn't have a-- Be very quiet, advised the duke, for it goes without saying.

Milo had never thought much about words before, but these looked so good that he longed to have some. "Look, Tock," he cried, "aren't they wonderful?" "They're fine, if you have something to say

I didn't know that I was going to have to eat my own words,' objected Milo. 'Of course, of course, everyone here does,' the king grunted. 'You should have made a tastier speech.

Bolje upasti u rije? nego u bunar.

You see," continued the minister, bowing thankfully to the duke, "Dictionopolis is the place where all the words in the world come from. They're grown right here in our orchards.

For always remember that while it is wrong to use too few, it is often far worse to use too many.

Si las revoluciones no se hacen con palabras, las ideas no se implantan con decretos.

I am the shadow my words cast

Armed with the arms of summer you come into my room come into my mind and untie the river of language look at yourself in these hurried words Bit by bit the day burns out over the erasing landscape your shadow is a land of birds the sun scatters with a wave from "THE ARMS OF SUMMER

Entre el hacer y el ver, acción o contemplación, escogí el acto de palabras: hacerlas, habitarlas, dar ojos al lenguaje.

man, tree of images, words which are flowers become fruits which are deeds.

For what, after all, is the difference between a memory and a fantasy? Are not both a succession of imprecisely rendered images further obscured by imprecisely chosen words and animated only by the wistful effort of one's imagination? And who is to say that a vividly imagined moment of happiness is not, in the end, more enriching to the spirit than a hazy semi-recollection of some pallid pastime?

I believe the choice to be excellent begins with aligning your thoughts and words with the intention to require more from yourself.

For me, poetry is the unexpected utterance of the soul. It is where the soul touches the everyday. It is less about words and more about the awakening the sense of aliveness we carry within us from birth. To walk quietly till the miracle in everything is poetry. whether we write it down or not.

For me, poetry is the unexpected utterance of the soul. It is where the soul touches the everyday. It is less about words and more about awakening the sense of aliveness we carry within us from birth. To walk quietly till the miracle in everything speaks is poetry, whether we write it down or not.

Over time, I have come to see the work of literature less as narrating the world than seeing the world with words. From the moment he begins to use words like colors in a painting, a writer can begin to see how wondrous and surprising the world is, and he breaks the bones of language to find his own voice. For this he needs paper, a pen, and the optimism of a child looking at the world for the first time.

at the end of the day there was nothing to be gained by reminding people that everything that had ever been written, even the greatest and most authoritative texts in the world, were about dreams, not real life, dreams conjured up by words.

By then I'd already learned that thoughts sometimes come to us in words, and sometimes in images. There were some thoughts - such as a memory of running under the pouring rain, and how it felt - that I couldn't even begin to put into words … Yet their image was clear in my mind. And there were other things that I could describe in words but were otherwise impossible to visualize: black light, my mother's death, infinity.

To write is to transform that inward gaze into words, to study the worlds into which we pass when we retire into ourselves, and to do so with patience, obstinacy, and joy.

Now he knew what it was that he wanted to tell Istanbul and write on its walls. It was both his public and his private view; it was what his heart intended as much as what his words had always meant to say. He said it to himself: "I have loved Rayiha more than anything in this world.

Perché io sia felice è necessario che ogni giorno mi occupi un po' di letteratura.

For words were so close to the things they described that, on mornings when the mist swept down from the mountains into the ghost villages below, poetry mixed with life and words with the objects they signified.