nothing puts me so completely out of patience
as the utterance of a wretched commonplace
when I am talking from my inmost heart.
Stichwörter: words
The words emerge from her body without her realizing it, as if she were being visited by the memory of a language long forsaken.
Marguerite DurasActions are the first tragedy in life, words are the second. Words are perhaps the worst. Words are merciless. . .
Oscar WildeStichwörter: words tragedy action
If I had my life over again[, ] I'd have thought more about words. And thought about them earlier.
Enid BagnoldStichwörter: words
Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a poet, yes. Surely I am a great poet.
Virginia WoolfStichwörter: words poetry poet
He was a writer and words were his weapons.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: humor words writer
The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his taper away, and he bred glow-worms to serve his purpose. They took the glow-worms away and he almost burnt the house down with a tinder.
Virginia WoolfStichwörter: words reading books literature
The reading of all good books is like conversation with the finest men of past centuries.
René DescartesStichwörter: words reading books literature
I couldn't live a week without a private library - indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.
H.P. LovecraftStichwörter: words reading books literature library
Most of my friends like words too well. They set them under the blinding light of the poem and try to extract every possible connotation from each of them, every temporary pun, every direct or indirect connection - as if a word could become an object by mere addition of consequences. Others pick up words from the streets, from their bars, from their offices and display them proudly in their poems as if they were shouting, "See what I have collected from the American language. Look at my butterflies, my stamps, my old shoes!" What does one do with all this crap?
Jack SpicerStichwörter: words poetry letters-to-lorca
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