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Words Quotes

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Words Quotes

“Oh, I know there are those of you who shake your head and clutch your Rosary Beads whenever I let slip yet another F-bomb -- all you prissy, judgemental little pussy farts who've led absolutely perfect lives ... never lied, cheated, coveted a close friend's new piece of ass, or wished ill upon another. Yeah! Im talkin' to YOU!!! You mealy-mouthed phoneys who are mortally offended by words ... WORDS!!! I once heard it said that to the physcian, nothing about the human body is dirty. I'm a writer. For me, there are no dirty words! To be sure, there are some truly ugly, venomous words. Words that still carry their baggage of hate and ignorance. Words that only serve to wound. But those are few in number and remain the exclusive property of the poisoned minds that birthed them. Those aren't the words I speak of. The great defense attorney, Clarence Darrow (one of my idols), was once reprimanded by a judge for using "salty" language. Darrow's response (and forgive my paraphrase) was to inform the judge that given that language is such a woefully inadequate instrument, he felt he should be allowed to use ALL the words. So, in the spirit of that immortal utterance, I'd just like to say, FUCK YOU!”

“Mr Hobbes, in the preface to his own bald translation of the "Ilias," (studying poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late,) Mr Hobbes, I say, begins the praise of Homer where he should have ended it. He tells us, that the first beauty of an epic poem consists in diction; that is, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers. Now the words are the colouring of the work, which, in the order of nature, is last to be considered; the design, the disposition, the manners, and the thoughts, are all before it: where any of those are wanting or imperfect, so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation of human life, which is in the very definition of a poem. Words, indeed, like glaring colours, are the first beauties that arise, and strike the sight; but, if the draught be false or lame, the figures ill disposed, the manners obscure or inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then the finest colours are but daubing, and the piece is a beautiful monster at the best. Neither Virgil nor Homer were deficient in any of the former beauties; but in this last, which is expression, the Roman poet is at least equal to the Grecian, as I have said elsewhere: supplying the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and by his diligence.”

“I watched it. For a thousand moments I watched it ride some unseen current of air. I expected it to land on the unswept floor, but it didn't. It glided like a bird, almost landing, then rose up to somersault as if bidden by a genie. I never imagined that it might land in my lap, that it could possibly travel so far. But it did. The word sat in the folds of my dress like a bright thing fallen from heaven. ... After a long while, I scooped the word up, careful not to crush its silvery wings, and brought it close to my face. It was difficult to read in the gloom of my hiding spot. I shuffled along to where a curtain of sparkling dust hung between two chairs.”

“[W]e talk about the tyranny of words, but we like to tyrannise over them too; we are fond of having a large superfluous establishment of words to wait upon us on great occasions; we think it looks important, and sounds well. As we are not particular about the meaning of our liveries on state occassions, if they be but fine and numerous enough, so, the meaning or necessity of our words is a secondary consideration, if there be but a great parade of them. And as individuals get into trouble by making too great a show of liveries, or as slaves when they are too numerous rise against their masters, so I think I could mention a nation that has got into many great difficulties, and will get into many greater, from maintaining too large a retinue of words.”

“As palavras em si mesmas não são nada. São apenas letrinhas agrupadas ou um monte de sons combinados de uma certa maneira, mas que não fazem nenhum sentido por si mesmos. É a gente que dá sentido às palavras. Está tudo em nossa cabeça, nos pequenos detalhes de como as coisas funcionam dentro dela. É só uma questão de como as coisas se processam no cérebro de uma pessoa e de outra, entende?”

“The best listeners I know pause over words. ‘That’s an interesting way of putting it,’ they muse, or they ask. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ The consciousness that every word is a choice, that each word has its own resonance, nuance, emotional coloring, and weight informs their sense of what is being communicated. This kind of listening comes close to what we engage in when we listen to music...A good listener loves words, respects them, pays attention to them, and recognizes vague approximations as a kind of falsehood.”

“For in truth I believe that the only way to say anything definite is to define it, and all definition is by limitation and exclusion; and that the only way to say something distinct is to say something indistinguishable from everything else. In short, I think that a man does not know what he is saying until he knows what he is not saying.”