I have always been jealous of artists. The smell of the studio, the names of the various tools, the look of a half-finished canvas all shout of creation. What do writers have in comparison? Only the flat paper, the clacketing of the typewriter or the...
WIDE, the margin between carte blanche and the white page. Nevertheless it is not in the margin that you can find me, but in the yet whiter one that separates the word-strewn sheet from the transparent, the written page from the one to be written in ...
Writers write because they're writers. Because their imaginations boil up inside of them, waiting to overflow into the written word. Ordinary people have little capacity for unyielding imagination, whereas the natural-born writer can do little but yi...
I write because writing is power. Writing is creation. When you write, you are as a god, a deity wielding his pen like some Harry Potter staff, making whatever you want to happen, happen. By sheer force of will and some clever word placement, I can a...
Kaffee: We'll work out of my apartment 7 o'clock, Joe before you come over tonight pick up a carton of legal pads half a dozen boxes red and black pens half a dozen boxes, Sam get a couple desk lamps, I need you to start on preliminary medical profil...
Kermit the Frog: If you please Mr. Scrooge, it's gotten colder, and the bookkeeping staff would like an extra shovel full of coal for the fire? Rat #1: We can't do the bookkeeping, all our pens have turned to inkcicles! Rat #2: Our assets are frozen!...
Hedley Lamarr: Sign here. [Bart reaches for the pen... revealing his black hands] Jim: [quickly] Why, Rhett! How many times have I told you to wash up after weekly cross burning? [licks his fingers, then rubs Bart's hand] Jim: See, it's coming off. [...
End production today. Wrap party as usual a little sad. Slow danced with Scarlett. Broke her toe. Not my fault. When she dipped me back, I stepped on it. Penélope and Javier anxious to work with me again. Said if I ever come up with another screenpl...
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth ...
Immanuel, God with us-that He would leave the spiritual realm and be present in the flesh and blood in such an act of humility is a staggering notion. As it is, He willingly gave His blood, in the flesh, so that others might find life, for it is writ...
It's asking us our names," Falkor reported. "I'm Atreyu!" Atreyu cried. "I'm Falkor!" cried Falkor. The boy without a name was silent. Atreyu looked at him, then took him by the hand and cried: "He's Bastian Balthazar Bux!" "It asks," Falkor translat...
I happen to believe that America is dying of loneliness, that we, as a people, have bought into the false dream of convenience, and turned away from a deep engagement with our internal lives—those fountains of inconvenient feeling—and toward the ...
When I was in Piazza di Spagna, in Rome, I watched (along with others) how many locals came to drink water from the fountain there. The people beside me said to each other "Oh my goodness, how disgusting, people just drink water from anywhere," while...
Carl Showalter: Would it... kill you to say something? "No." That's the first thing you've said in the last four hours. That's a... that's fountain of conversation, man. That's a geyser. I mean, whoa daddy! Stand back, man. Shit. I'm sitting here dri...
If only you would go to the university," he said. "Only enlightened and holy people are interesting, it's only they who are wanted. The more of such people there are, the sooner the Kingdom of God will come on earth. Of your town then not one stone w...
The corporations that profit from permanent war need us to be afraid. Fear stops us from objecting to government spending on a bloated military. Fear means we will not ask unpleasant questions of those in power. Fear permits the government to operate...
Asher taps his fingers on his lips and I catch Amy licking her own as she eyes his mouth. "What exactly are Rocky Mountain Oysters?" he asks her. I restrain a laugh as Amy's face twists in confusion. "Well...I think they're kind of meat. I'm not sure...
Doubtful, but it did work... "Annabeth?" Percy said again. "You're planning something. You've got that I'm-planning-something look." "I don't have an I'm-planning-something look." "Yeah, you totally do. Your eyebrows knit and your lips press together...
Should he make a note? He felt for the smooth shape of his pen in his pocket. 'Theme for a novel: The contrary pull ... " No. If this notion were real, he needn't make a note. A notion on which a note had to be made would be stillborn anyway, his not...
All of my works are steps on my journey, a struggle for truth that I have waged with pen, canvas, and materials. Overhead is a distant, radiant star, and the more I stretch to reach it, the further it recedes. But by the power of my spirit and my sin...
Can you hear me? Sighing. You were right. My requiem is well prepared. Still to be written is the poem that is never complete, an endless rubbing on the ink block, an endless dipping of the pen, an endless swoop over the white paper, the poem of my l...
