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Reserve the right to make up a word where none has gone before.
Language achieves soul only when it’s applied as a tool, used by those who imbue it with what they have had the courage and honesty to perceive and feel.
When written in Chinese, the word "crisis" is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity.
The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.
Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.
A man's character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in conversation.
That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.
[...] Beneath all that cool pseudo-academic hogwash lurked a very passionate man who knew how important it was to say "f!&$" now and then, and say it loud too, relish its syllabic sweetness, its immigrant pride, a great American epic word really, starting at the lower lip, often the very front of the lower lip, before racing all the way back to the back of the throat, where it finishes with a great blast, the concussive forse of the K catching up then with the hush of the F already on its way, thus loading it with plenty of offense and edge and certainly ambiguity.
I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.
There are certain things in which mediocrity is intolerable: poetry, music, painting, public eloquence. What torture it is to hear a frigid speech being pompously declaimed, or second-rate verse spoken with all a bad poet's bombast!
We have to reinvest in the idea of articulacy as a form of personal human freedom and power.
There is the necessity to have two languages - one that you use with your mates and the other that you need in any official capacity.
Of all of our inventions for mass communication, pictures still speak the most universally understood language.
The guy's a real motherscratcher, pardon the language.
Your hump is very pleasing.
Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, are all very good words for the lips.
Humour is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
Who can explain the Infinite in words?
Slang is a poor man's poetry.
F!&$. A great by-the-bootstrap prayer or curse if you prefer, depending on how you look at it, or use it, suited perfectly for hurling at the skies or at the world, or sometimes, if said just right, for uttering with enough love and fire, the woman beside you melts inside herself, immersed in all that word-heat.
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