At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another woman, who kept her notebooks so that one day I could use th...
Re-reading a collection of my stuff, I was rather startled to find that it was 'perhaps.
I think the first time I really heard poetry was in the schoolyard. Just the little limericks that kids say when they're jumping rope and playing games. I think that's the first time I heard rhyming w...
Friendship and sentiment and the giving of one's words are very important.
If we wander around as politicians jumping at every shadow and desperately afraid of having our words taken out of context or attacks layered on in an unfair way, I think we're actually doing a disres...
Some words having to do with the death of the people in the World Trade Center attack had been added, and when I got to it, I had this overwhelmingly emotional experience. I struggled to get through t...
You cannot hear the name Martin Luther King, Jr., and not think of death. You might hear the words 'I have a dream,' but they will doubtlessly only serve to underscore an image of a simple motel balco...
Scientists attach great importance to the human capacity for spoken language. But we also have a parallel track of nonverbal communication, which may reveal more than our carefully chosen words, and s...
Words are but the signs of ideas.
Flowers are an easy, eloquent expression of love at a time when words can seem clumsy and inadequate.
Being Irish, I always had this love of words.
"Plain English" - everybody loves it demands it - from the other fellow.
The word is half his that speaks and half his that hears it.
Similes are like songs of love: They much describe they nothing prove.
Often I am struck in amazement about a word: I suddenly realize that the complete arbitrariness of our language is but a part of the arbitrariness of our own world in general.
The thoughtless are rarely wordless.
The limits of my language are the limits of my mind. All I know is what I have words for.
A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.
If a literary man puts together two words about music one of them will be wrong.
Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.