#ang

I am a slow reader. I always loved words, which is a strange thing given that I couldn't actually read them. ↗

— Keira Knightley

#always #am #given #i #i always

He was one of those inexplicable gifts of nature, an artist who leaps over boundaries, changes our nervous systems, creates a new language, transmits new kinds of joy to our startled senses and spirits. ↗

— Jack Kroll

#boundaries #changes #creates #gifts #inexplicable

The great thing about being the son of Maya Angelou is that I had the good fortune to grow up around some of the greatest black artists, dancers, singers, musicians, and actors of our time. ↗

— Guy Johnson

#angelou #around #artists #being #black

Poetry is the language we speak in the most terrifying or ecstatic passages of our lives. But the very word poetry scares people. They think of their grade school teachers reciting 'Hiawatha' and they groan. ↗

— Erica Jong

#grade #grade school #language #lives #most

The music of language became extremely important to me, and obvious to me. By the time I was seven I was writing myself. I was a poet. ↗

— June Jordan

#by the time #extremely #i #important #language

In Anger Management,' he said,'we had to do all this role-playing stuff. You know, to get used to handling things in a less volatile way.' 'You role-played,' I said, trying to picture this. 'I had to. It was court-ordered. ↗

— Sarah Dessen

#humor #just-listen #owen #role-playing #sarah-dessen

We compete so hard and that changes the whole ballgame. ↗

— Brian Jordan

#changes #compete #hard #whole

You tell me to stand still, but I am not walking," he shouted, "whereas you who are walking say you are still. How is it that you are standing still but I am not?" The Buddha turned round. "My legs move but my mind is still," he said. "Your legs are still but your mind moves all the time in a fire of anger, hatred, and feverish desire. Therefore, I am still but you are not. ↗

— Majjhimanikaya

#anger

exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exile’s life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement. ↗

— Edward W. Said

#exile #migration #sorrow #experience

Deep down under where his heart resided, strangled up in thorny vines of guilt, anger, fear and longing, there lay something deeper in him, something that he couldn’t see but she could. ↗

— Carol Oates

#hope #humanity #love #relationships #anger