Pen Quotes
Quotes tagged as "pen"
Showing 91-120 of 155
“I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems.
How can it be my fault
when the words to describe you have not yet been created?
When the alphabet lacks the very letters?
How can it be my fault
when your loveliness only grows
by the time I reach for pen and paper?
Tell me how I am at fault
when I am only a beginner in poems
and you are exquisite poetry?
To write you in words
is to put a veil upon you.
Why must I write
when I can kiss you instead?”
―
How can it be my fault
when the words to describe you have not yet been created?
When the alphabet lacks the very letters?
How can it be my fault
when your loveliness only grows
by the time I reach for pen and paper?
Tell me how I am at fault
when I am only a beginner in poems
and you are exquisite poetry?
To write you in words
is to put a veil upon you.
Why must I write
when I can kiss you instead?”
―
“They took my books
because my message was love.
They took my pen
because my words were love.
Then they took my voice
because my song was love.
Soon they’ll take myself
so nothing remains.
But they don’t know that when I'm gone
my love will stay.”
―
because my message was love.
They took my pen
because my words were love.
Then they took my voice
because my song was love.
Soon they’ll take myself
so nothing remains.
But they don’t know that when I'm gone
my love will stay.”
―
“When the lyrical muse sings the creative pen dances.”
― Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems, and Essays
― Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems, and Essays
“A poetess is not as selfish
as you assume.
After months of agonising
over her marriage of words—the bride—
and spaces—the groom,
she knows that as soon
as she has penned the poem,
it’s yours to consume.
So, without giving it a think,
she blows on the ink
and the letters fly away
like dandelions on a windy day,
landing on hands and lips,
on hearts and hips.
But more often than not,
you can easily spot
them trodden and forgotten,
becoming sodden and rotten.
Yet, she will continue to make
what’s others to take
because selfishness
is not the mark of a poetess.”
―
as you assume.
After months of agonising
over her marriage of words—the bride—
and spaces—the groom,
she knows that as soon
as she has penned the poem,
it’s yours to consume.
So, without giving it a think,
she blows on the ink
and the letters fly away
like dandelions on a windy day,
landing on hands and lips,
on hearts and hips.
But more often than not,
you can easily spot
them trodden and forgotten,
becoming sodden and rotten.
Yet, she will continue to make
what’s others to take
because selfishness
is not the mark of a poetess.”
―
“I finally made eye contact with the boy in the bed. He lay on his side, a tube in his nose and another in his vein. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin was ghostly pale. His hair might have been blond, but it was fading into a gray, making it hard to tell. The only part of this boy that held any life at all were his eyes, which brimmed with tears when he saw me.
“Kahlen?”
I sat still. These three people all called me by the same name, which sounded sort of like Katlyn and Ellen and made me believe that maybe they actually knew me.
“Where did you go? Where have you been? I thought you were dead.” His chest worked overtime, trying to keep up with his mouth, spilling over with words.
“Can you get her a pen? Please?” He lifted an arm weakly. It was all bone. “I just need to know.”
“A pen?” I asked.
Once again his eyes lit up.
“You can talk?”
I stared at this boy, at how he was overjoyed at one of the most basic things a person could do. “So it would seem.” I smiled.
He flopped onto his back, laughing from his gut, and based on Julie’s tears, I was guessing she’d been waiting a long time for that to come back.”
― The Siren
“Kahlen?”
I sat still. These three people all called me by the same name, which sounded sort of like Katlyn and Ellen and made me believe that maybe they actually knew me.
“Where did you go? Where have you been? I thought you were dead.” His chest worked overtime, trying to keep up with his mouth, spilling over with words.
“Can you get her a pen? Please?” He lifted an arm weakly. It was all bone. “I just need to know.”
“A pen?” I asked.
Once again his eyes lit up.
“You can talk?”
I stared at this boy, at how he was overjoyed at one of the most basic things a person could do. “So it would seem.” I smiled.
He flopped onto his back, laughing from his gut, and based on Julie’s tears, I was guessing she’d been waiting a long time for that to come back.”
― The Siren
“Decisions are the privilege we’ve been granted to have a hand in penning the script of our lives. And in the writing, the question is not the availability of the paper or the pen. The question is the wisdom to use them rightly.”
― An Autumn's Journey: Deep Growth in the Grief and Loss of Life's Seasons
― An Autumn's Journey: Deep Growth in the Grief and Loss of Life's Seasons
“We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the page.”
―
―
“I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities — as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place,
because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.”
―
because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.”
―
“The hand of God is wonderfully evident at those times when He pens stories whose lines we ourselves are far too fearful to pen or whose imaginations are far too limited to envision. And I would unashamedly suggest that the Christmas story is that very story.”
―
―
“Writing ink is the magic that allows nothing to become something. It catches the fleeting idea and seeks out the glances of those who wish to see. Even a random ink splat will mean something to someone.”
― A Writer's Year: Fennel's Journal No. 3
― A Writer's Year: Fennel's Journal No. 3
“I want to have my questions. I want to have more thoughts than my mind can hold.”
― Broken Crowns
― Broken Crowns
“When they ask me- Who are you?
I tell them "give me pen and paper and some good music and I will show you”
―
I tell them "give me pen and paper and some good music and I will show you”
―
“And now that Thanksgiving has passed, I will take a moonlight ramble through the woods – yes, the city has its culture and cafes, and the sea has its drama, but for now give me the fallen leaves and rolling hills and the smell of the earth after a rain! Give me that over all the operas on earth, so long as I can harpoon whales with my pen!”
― The Whale: A Love Story
― The Whale: A Love Story
“If a pen can communicate our thoughts, dreams, and emotions and be the voice of our soul, then ink is the medium that carries the message.”
― A Writer's Year: Fennel's Journal No. 3
― A Writer's Year: Fennel's Journal No. 3
“By(e) pen, I've tried my hand at poetry; only to see how boring it is to me. That is, unless I get a chance to destroy each and every piece while doing it as I please.”
― Healology
― Healology
“Decisions are the privilege we’ve been granted to have a hand in penning the script of our lives. And in the writing, the question is not the availability of the paper or the pen. The question is the wisdom to use them rightly.”
― An Intimate Collision: Encounters with Life and Jesus
― An Intimate Collision: Encounters with Life and Jesus
“Never let anyone use your toothbrush or your pen. -Author Wllm Worth”
― By Gone Daze: Small Towns Can Have Big Secrets
― By Gone Daze: Small Towns Can Have Big Secrets
“If everyone took his pen and wrote just anything that came on his mind, we would greatly help researchers to understand how our minds work”
― Pearls Of Eternity
― Pearls Of Eternity
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