All shuffle there; all cough in ink;All wear the carpet with their shoes;All think what other people think;All know the man their neighbour knows,Lord, what would they sayDid their Catullus walk that way?
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It seems to me the book has not just aesthetic values-- the charming little clothy box of the thing, the smell of the glue, even the print, which has its own beauty. But there's something about the sensation of ink on paper that is in some sense a thing, a phenomenon rather than an epiphenomenon. I can't break the association of electric trash with the computer screen. Words on the screen give the sense of being just another passing electronic wriggle.
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Coffee falls into the stomach ... ideas begin to move, things remembered arrive at full gallop ... the shafts of wit start up like sharp-shooters, similes arise, the paper is covered with ink...
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He winged away on a wildgoup's chase across the kathartic ocean and made synthetic ink and sensitive paper for his own end out of his wit's wa...
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No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
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When you sell a man a book, you don't sell him 12 ounces of paper and ink and glue - you sell him a whole new life.
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God commanded His 'chosen people' to become mass murderers (Numbers 31:16-17) before the ink had dried on his moral magnum opus 'The Ten Commandments'. Unfortunately, humankind has followed this internecine hypocrisy even since.
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The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.
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Words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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Our live experiences, fixed in aphorisms, stiffen into cold epigrams. Our heart's blood, as we write it, turns to mere dull ink.
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We, soldiers of a different sort, We, wasters of ink and page, We, warriors of words, Masters of melancholy, harlots of the pen, We bleed these volumes, and expect only absolution.
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Government is the only institution that can take a valuable commodity like paper, and make it worthless by applying ink.
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The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns, as it were, instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish squirting out ink.
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A newspaper is lumber made malleable. It is ink made into words and pictures. It is conceived, born, grows up and dies of old age in a day.
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A single bad habit will mar an otherwise faultless character, as an ink-drop soileth the pure white page.
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But my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.
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Coffee falls into the stomach... ideas begin to move, things remembered arrive at full gallop... the shafts of wit start up like sharp-shooters, smiles arise, the paper is covered with ink...
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Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel
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Life is much like writing in ink : All you can do is read over your past and look forward to a blank page for your future that will soon be filled with words that can never be erased.
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I have designed my style pantomimes as white ink drawings on black backgrounds, so that man's destiny appears as a thread lost in an endless labyrinth.
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But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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If the sea were ink for the words of my Lord, the sea would be spent before the Words of my lord are spent.
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I dip my pen in the blackest ink, because I am not afraid of falling into my inkpot.
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If you were in a burning house and there was a cat and a Rembrandt, what would you save The cat...you would save the cat, because the cat is alive. The art is dead. It's just paint on a canvas, ink on a page. To live for art is to deny life. It's just to destroy life.
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But words are things; and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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But words are things; and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
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The very ink with which history is written is merely fluid prejudice.
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One ought only to write when one leaves a piece of ones flesh in the ink-pot each time one dips one's pen.
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The very ink with which history is written is merely fluid prejudice.
History
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I am a galley slave to pen and ink.
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