Writer Quotes - Page 4

A writer creates many lives, changes lives, and with that lives forever.

There is strength in kindness.

In The End, Humans Will Become Humans Own Worst Enemy.

Writing heals my heart like no pill ever could.

I am a lover of love and I am a lover of words, and the two together spin visions of airy castles, but also may pierce the heart of hope. And so I remind you that I am a fool, a poet, and what matters is reality, not lovely words. Words are full of promise, yet empty of matter.

You have a great talent and a great role in the world.

And yet Curt’s a real writer too. His machinery is stuck, that’s all.

I like to skip prewriting. I love just jumping into the actual writing process. Then I revise/edit and fix what I need to. Then the following steps; proofread and publish. Of course before you just go into writing, it would be a good idea to do some charts of each chapter...what you would want each one to be about and have a character list with their personalities and how they will come into play in your book. I mean, you wouldn't just want to go all crazy and jot down all kinds of random stuff at once...trust me, you'll go crazy. With writing, you take it as it comes, go with your own flow.-Nina Jean Slack

This conversation with myself has an overwhelming aroma of narcissism.

Only the writers can change or fix the past by going back to edit old works

That land is a community is the basic concept of ecology, but that land is to be loved and respected is an extension of ethics.

Was it an insult to be called a “woman writer”? Didn’t it have a taint of, say, the “woman driver”?

Time is tick, tick, ticking away. How many souls will I capture today? Will they be a challenge or will they be given? Only time will tell as the clock keeps tick, tick, ticking. Your god has arrived with enough hatred for y’all, with enough evil for the big and small, so come one, come all. I will shred your souls and place them in my satchel, call you a settler and make you my peddler. Come one, come all, come stand behind your god. I will lead you into the darkness of Earth's end. Come one, come all, my wilted flowers, come claim your title, speak out and cheer it. Come one, come all, let’s have a ball, my wilted flowers . . . Sweet, Unconquerable Spirits.

Ella had asked the writer how it felt to see her own works published. Seläntö had smiled sweetly at her and whispered, “You know what? It makes you understand why a dog eats its own vomit.

If a writer has the desire to communicate by writing and be heard, then he necessarily cares about seeing it in print. I suppose it's the difference between masturbation and making love—the real writer wants to touch another person.

I write because sometimes I feel I cannot breathe...until I do.

I write flawed characters. Ones that do not always make the best decisions and are driven by ambition or lust. They are not black or white, they are in the large space that exists between.

And then it dawned on me that the greatest love stories in the world never have happy endings.

Just about the worst thing an artist can do is to try and be a nice person.

Why do I write? Out of fear. Out of fear that the memory of the people I write about might go lost. Out of fear that the memory of myself might get lost. Or even just to be shielded by a story, to slip inside a story and stop being recognizable, controllable, subject to blackmail.

I am a deeply uncertain individual. I often find myself acting like a fool to make the people around me laugh. When they’re laughing, they’re not watching me quite as closely. I smile to put people at ease. But what if I opened my mouth one day, spoke my actual thoughts, and the people glared at my opinions? What if they thought me disgusting or frightening or ugly because of my words? Would you keep your lips shut for the rest of your life to not face that judgment? Just for the sake of someone else’s comfort? For these strangers, who I will never know? If I can’t speak then I’ll write. These strangers, whose opinions crush me, will be forced to listen. Because when they read my words those words will make a home within their heads. They may even end up using my own opinions against me. But at least I’ll be hidden behind the pages of a book.

The highway of grace will get you somewhere a whole lot faster then the freeway of spite.

I think of myself first as a singer, meaning an interpreter. Then I think of myself as a writer. It is an outlet I have to have. I get very hard to live with without something happening to write about.

All this happened in much less time than it takes to tell, since I am trying to interpret for you into slow speech the instantaneous effect of visual impressions.

I grab the nearest lamppost when my knees threaten to give out, panting for breath as the words rip through me

The seed of our love will always cube within the wonder of infinite.

Show me a person who found love in his life and did not celebrate it with a dance.

Every writer must acknowledge and be able to handle the unalterable fact that he has, in effect, given himself a life sentence in solitary confinement.

All you have to do is put one word after another, and remember how great it feels to be a writer.

The struggles we endure today will be the ‘good old days’ we laugh about tomorrow.

The greatest tribute one can give to a writer is that it is simply enough to read him.

Some people make you want to be a better person, and that, for me, is the purest form of love.

THE MANY FACES OF SURVIVALSunday, August 10th at 2:00 PSTDachau Liberator, medical whistle-blower, award winning writer, college professor and world renowned garlic farmer, Chester Aaron, talks about the hard choices he’s had to make, why he made them, and how it’s changed his life. Mr. Aaron was recognized by the National Endowment for the Arts, and received the Huntington Hartford Foundation fellowship which was chaired by Aldous Huxley and Tomas Mann. He also inspired Ralph Nader to expose the over-radiation of blacks in American hospitals. Now Mr. Aaron is a world-renowned garlic farmer who spends his days writing about the liberation of Dachau. He is 86 years old and he has a thousand stories to tell. Although he has published over 17 books, he is still writing more and looks forward to publishing again soon.

A daydreamer is a writer just waiting for pen and paper.

Cowards say it can't be done, critics say it shouldn't have been done, creator say well done.

You will never know all there is to know. You will learn until your final days. Then you will inspire someone else. This is what an artist does.

Come writers and criticsWho prophesize with your penAnd keep your eyes wideThe chance won't come againAnd don't speak too soonFor the wheel's still in spinAnd there's no tellin' whoThat it's namin'For the loser nowWill be later to winFor the times they are a-changin'.

To be a writer you have to write -- and no academic degree is going to do the writing for you.

There's more to a person than flesh. Judge others by the sum of their soul and you'll see that beauty is a force of light that radiates from the inside out.

...Love can give you the most exhilarating wonderful highs at times... ...Then there will be dives that will take all you have just to hold on... Quote on the Title Page of "Love TORN Asunder

To Me, The Best Part Of Success, Is The Journey!

A poetess is not as selfishas you assume.After months of agonising over her marriage of words—the bride—and spaces—the groom,she knows that as soonas she has penned the poem,it’s yours to consume.So, without giving it a think,she blows on the inkand the letters fly awaylike dandelions on a windy day,landing on hands and lips, on hearts and hips.But more often than not,you can easily spotthem trodden and forgotten,becoming sodden and rotten.Yet, she will continue to makewhat’s others to takebecause selfishness is not the mark of a poetess.

A friend worth knowing tolerates your flaws while a friend worth keeping loves you in spite of them.

You cannot prove your worth by bylines and busyness.

There is no man but carries in his breast the makings of a story, which, though never told, comes more home to him, than any the mind of another man can find and fashion in words("The Watcher O' The Dead")

I'm sick of the images trapped in my headI'm sick of being preoccupied with the dead

A writer creates from his mind; his creations emanate from the feelings enmeshed deep within his heart. From the fire burning within his soul, he gives shape to his thoughts. His thoughts start to breathe. Every sentence breathes with a purpose.

Don't quit. It's very easy to quit during the first 10 years. Nobody cares whether you write or not, and it's very hard to write when nobody cares one way or the other. You can't get fired if you don't write, and most of the time you don't get rewarded if you do. But don't quit.

If you were waiting for a sign that you’re meant to be a writer…THIS IS IT.

A POCKET-SIZED GIRLHe keeps me in his pocket for a rainy day; he swears I'm not an object as he yo-yo's me away.A friend is what we'll call it,but my friend, he does not know,each time it rains I love him— so to his pocket, I must go.He thinks he's being clever,but I am not a fool;his love ain't worth a penny,so to my heart I must be cruel.

My writing, it’s my way of making sense of everything. My way to feel whole. May I never be complete and may I never feel content – please, let me always have the need, always have the urge to write. 

Sometimes a writer simply finds new ways of saying what has already been said because, ultimately, truth is unoriginal.

I wake up to find magic, I seek dreams and I crave imagination. This is my creed.

Lighten up. Brighten up. Smile.

Without the author there is nothing.

Words both written and read are my passion.

Confront the page that taunts you with its whiteness. Face your enemy and fill it with words. You are bigger and stronger than a piece of paper.

It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.

A novelist's characters must be with him as he lies down to sleep, and as he wakes from his dreams. He must learn to hate them and to love them.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only author who intends to take the longest possible route to a destination that will always be over the next hill.