Sometimes you're drowning yourself in your own words.
The value of ones heart is in the reminders of what fills it,words may sustain for a while but actions will always be the hope
Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave...
We are what our thoughts have made us so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live they travel far.
In the 'Hurt Locker' there's a lot of me in there, a sense of humor, a man of few words and a lot of action.
If you look closely, there is no book more visual than Three Trapped Tigers, in that it is filled with blank pages, dark pages, it has stars made of words, the famous magical cube made of numbers, and...
Words empty as the wind are best left unsaid.
With a certain frustration I knew I spoke too soon, too urgently. I wanted to get out of the way the things I knew to say, wanted to say, the things I'd been thinking, all in the hope of moving into t...
The true life is not reducible to words spoken or written, not by anyone, ever.
The only difference between life and death is that the living still have time, but the time to say that one word, to make that one gesture, is running out for them. What gesture, what word, I don't kn...
The object we call a book is not the real book, but its potential, like a musical score or seed. It exists fully only in the act of being read; and its real home is inside the head of the reader, wher...
Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.
Of course, not everything is unsayable in words, only the living truth.
Maisie bit her lip. She had learned that sometimes it was best to let words die of their own accord, rather than fight them.
I lost my voice but I had words.
I know what loves are trembling into fire; how jealousy shoots its green flashes hither and thither; how intricately love crosses love; love makes knots; love brutally tears them apart. I have been kn...
I don’t know why—it’s just that—I don’t know—they’re not kin.—Surprising word, I think to myself never used it before. Not of kin—sounds like hillbilly talk—not of a kind—same root—kindness, too—they...
I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our spee...
And sometimes, when the stars are kind, we read with an intake of breath, with a shudder, as if someone or something had 'walked over our grave,' as if a memory had suddenly been rescued from a place...
A good book, he had concluded, leaves you wanting to reread the book. A great book compels you to reread your own soul. Such books were for him rare and, as he aged, rarer. Still he searched, one more...