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Words Quotes

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Words Quotes

“Wooden scrabble letters offer a whole forest of literature, tiled down for easy shower installment. If you limit your use to only the letters q, u, a, c, and k, your ducks will love what you've done with your bathroom.”

“Where everything is words, you'd think I'd have some mastery and know my way around, but all this churning hatred, each man a verbal firing squad, immeasurable suspicions, a flood of mocking, angry talk, all of life a vicious debate, conversations in which there is nothing that cannot be said...no, I'd be better off in the jungle, I thought, where a roar's a roar and no one is hard put to miss its meaning.”

“I can arrange words on a page but I can't seem to organize books on a shelf. Over the years, My Secret has shelved thousands and thousands, held each one in his hands. He thinks they might have seeped into him, through his skin, as much as the books he's read. At night and on his days off we spend hours talking about writing. He reads three or four books at a time. When he's not working at the bookstore he goes to other bookstores around the city and browses until closing time. Holding more volumes in his hands, filling himself up with words.”

“Aisling tumbled out, his gold eyes going wild about the room to take in all of them. His beak clicked as he worked it in silence. Then, as the breaking of ice may bring a cascade of water from winter’s falls, the griffin’s voice—no longer that small shrill copy of Taryn’s, but his own true voice—poured plaintively from him. “Mom!” Taryn jerked around, her mouth dropping open. Aisling bounded toward her and she swept him up into a tight embrace. He clutched at her shoulders with his talons, burying his head under her chin, and cried, “Mom! Yoo…rrrrr…oh…kay!” “Great gods,” Antilles heard himself say and he shot Tonka a startled glance. “He cannot be speaking?!” The horseman merely smiled. “And why not?” he murmured, resettling himself on his padded bolster. “For has he not been a miracle from the very first?” “You’re talking,” Taryn cried, true delight painting itself over the grief that had seemed to mask her since the dawning of this terrible day. She was radiant once more, burning with a joy and a healing light all its own as she hugged her griffin close. “Oh, my fierce prince! My big boy!” “Yoo…rrrr…Ai-sing,” whispered the griffin. His raptor’s eyes flicked to Antilles and his naked wings fluttered. “Tilly. Yoo…rrrr…sun-shy?” Taryn giggled, her face pressed to fur. “Aye, lad,” Antilles said, tossing his broken horn. “My sun and my moon and all my starry skies.”

“Perhaps I have misjudged you, Christopher,” Erienne commented as he whirled her about in a wide sweep of the ballroom. “How so, my love?” He searched her face for some hint of her meaning. “You watch over me as closely as Stuart,” she stated and grew thoughtful. “Perhaps more so.” “I have not given up hope that you will someday become mine, madam, and I choose to safeguard against those who would take you from me.” “What of Stuart?” She raised a lovely brow as she awaited his answer. It was a long moment before he gave a reply. “In the ways of love, I do not consider Stuart as much a threat as an inconvenience.” “An inconvenience?” she queried. “I shall have to deal with him in time, and that will be the difficult part. I cannot dismiss the man without rousing your hatred again. ’Tis a most perplexing problem.” “You amaze me, Christopher.” Erienne shook her head, somewhat shocked by his casual disregard of her husband. “You truly amaze me.” “The feeling is mutual, my love.” His voice came as a soft caress and sent an eddy of sensations spiraling down through the core of her being. -Erienne & Christopher”

“What’s more amazing is how we habitually take the power of our voice for granted. When we bring our awareness to our voice and learn to express it in new ways—with impeccability—we rediscover our true message. Your voice is the key to unlocking the power and magnificence of your message. This work isn’t about singing on key, finding the right words, leaving out ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ and articulating clearly. This is about allowing and accepting your Magical Self. Let’s talk about how words create you.”

“Words. I had always loved them. I collected them, like I had collected pretty stones as a child. I liked to roll words over my tongue like a lump of molten honeycomb, savoring the sweetness, the crackle, the crunch. Cerulean, azure, blue. Shadowy, sombre, secret. Voluptuous, sensuous, amorous. Kiss, hiss, abyss. Some words sounded dangerous. Pagan. Tiger. Some words seemed to shine. Crystal. Glissade. Some words changed their meaning as I grew older. Ravishing.”

“Η Μάγδα Λεμονιέρ κόβει από τις εφημερίδες λέξεις κάθε μεγέθους και τις φυλάει σε κουτιά. Τις οργισμένες λέξεις τις φυλάει σε κόκκινο κουτί. Τις λέξεις αγάπης, σε πράσινο κουτί. Τις ουδέτερες, σε μπλε κουτί. Τις μελαγχολικές, σε κίτρινο κουτί. Και σ'ένα διάφανο κουτί φυλάει τις μαγικές λέξεις. Συχνά ανοίγει τα κουτιά και τα τοποθετεί ανάποδα πάνω στο τραπέζι, έτσι ώστε οι λέξεις να ανακατευτούν όπως τους γουστάρει. Τότε οι λέξεις της λένε τι συμβαίνει, και τι πρόκειται να συμβεί.”

“Words were magic. They healed me when I was sick, comforted me when I was scared, and guided me when I was lost and alone...When confused, I consulted the Qur'an through kheerah. When thirsty, I drank from the brass cup inscribed with the Throne Verse. If I lost something, I incanted the besmalah and I would find it. We hung calligraphy on the walls and wore jewelry with Islamic inscriptions. When we entered the house, we announced our arrival with "Salam" so that evil spirits would flee.”

“Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut ... We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn’t the opposite equally true?”