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All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.

Writers of novels and romance in general bring a double loss to their readers; robbing them of their time and money; representing men, manners, and things, that never have been, or are likely to be.
Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love.
Romanticism is not just a mode; it literally eats into every life. Women will never get rid of just waiting for the right man.
The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule.
I am a dreamer of words, of written words. I think I am reading; a word stops me. I leave the page. The syllables of the word begin to move around. Stressed accents begin to invert. The word abandons its meaning like an overload which is too heavy and prevents dreaming. Then words take on other meanings as if they had the right to be young. And the words wander away, looking in the nooks and crannies of vocabulary for new company, bad company.
Words are like eyeglasses they blur everything that they do not make clear.
As a poet and writer, I deeply love and I deeply hate words. I love the infinite evidence and change and requirements and possibilities of language; every human use of words that is joyful, or honest or new, because experience is new... But as a Black poet and writer, I hate words that cancel my name and my history and the freedom of my future: I hate the words that condemn and refuse the language of my people in America.
A thousand words will not leave so deep an impression as one deed.
All words are part true and part false.
Words ought to be a little wild for they are the assaults of thought on the unthinking.
Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.
Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.
In words are seen the state of mind and character and disposition of the speaker.
If you wish to know the mind of a man, listen to his words.
In fact, words are well adapted for description and the arousing of emotion, but for many kinds of precise thought other symbols are much better.
Gentle words, quiet words, are after all the most powerful words. They are more convincing, more compelling, more prevailing.
Words represent your intellect. The sound, gesture and movement represent your feelings.
There are words which sever hearts more than sharp swords; there are words the point of which sting the heart through the course of a whole life.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.
I find it difficult to believe that words have no meaning in themselves, hard as I try. Habits of a lifetime are not lightly thrown aside.
Our expression and our words never coincide, which is why the animals don't understand us.
Words today are like the shells and rope of seaweed which a child brings home glistening from the beach and which in an hour have lost their luster.
For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.
If the word has the potency to revive and make us free, it has also the power to blind, imprison, and destroy.
The finest words in the world are only vain sounds if you cannot understand them.
Colors fade, temples crumble, empires fall, but wise words endure.
An average English word is four letters and a half. By hard, honest labor I've dug all the large words out of my vocabulary and shaved it down till the average is three and a half... I never write metropolis for seven cents, because I can get the same money for city. I never write policeman, because I can get the same price for cop.... I never write valetudinarian at all, for not even hunger and wretchedness can humble me to the point where I will do a word like that for seven cents; I wouldn't do it for fifteen.
No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.
Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.
It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.
Creativity is essentially a lonely art. An even lonelier struggle. To some a blessing. To others a curse. It is in reality the ability to reach inside yourself and drag forth from your very soul an idea.
Because of their courage, their lack of fear, they (creative people) are willing to make silly mistakes. The truly creative person is one who can think crazy; such a person knows full well that many of his great ideas will prove to be worthless. The creative person is flexible -- he is able to change as the situation changes, to break habits, to face indecision and changes in conditions without undue stress. He is not threatened by the unexpected as rigid, inflexible people are.
To create something you must be something.
It seems safe to say that significant discovery, really creative thinking, does not occur with regard to problems about which the thinker is lukewarm.
True creativity often starts where language ends.
The essential part of creativity is not being afraid to fail.
Serious people have few ideas. People with ideas are never serious.
The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.
Yearn to understand first and to be understood second.
It's a writer's job to carve with language, to hew close to the bone.
Everyone admits that love is wonderful and necessary, yet no one agrees on just what it is.
In real love you want the other person's good. In romantic love, you want the other person.
Love is a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible -- it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment, and offer you more joy than any material possession could.
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.
The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive.
To love someone is to isolate him from the world, wipe out every trace of him, dispossess him of his shadow, drag him into a murderous future. It is to circle around the other like a dead star and absorb him into a black light.
When we understand that man is the only animal who must create meaning, who must open a wedge into neutral nature, we already understand the essence of love. Love is the problem of an animal who must find life, create a dialogue with nature in order to experience his own being.
Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.
When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out.
Women wish to be loved not because they are pretty, or good, or well bred, or graceful, or intelligent, but because they are themselves.
Nothing we use or hear or touch can be expressed in words that equal what we are given by the senses.
First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.
All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time.
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
Words of love, are works of love.
No man means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.
Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them.
No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight of the soul.
Drama is life with the dull parts cut out of it.
A film is never really any good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.
I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.
Night's deepest gloom is but a calm; that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm; the comfort of mankind.
Whoever thinks of going to bed before twelve o clock is a scoundrel.
Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
Hope is the expectation that something outside of ourselves, something or someone external, is going to come to our rescue and we will live happily ever after.
My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry; to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return.
A new world is not made simply by trying to forget the old. A new world is made with a new spirit, with new values. Our world may have begun that way, but today it is caricature. Our world is a world of things. What we dread most, in the face of the impending debacle, is that we shall be obliged to give up our gewgaws, our gadgets, all the little comforts that have made us so uncomfortable. We are not peaceful souls; we are smug, timid, queasy and quaky.
It is the things in common that make relationships enjoyable, bit it is the little differences that make them interesting.
Hope is the last thing that dies in man; and though it be exceedingly deceitful, yet it is of this good use to us, that while we are traveling through life it conducts us in an easier and more pleasant way to our journey's end.
To live without Hope is to Cease to live.
Neither should a ship rely on one small anchor, nor should life rest on a single hope.
Real love stories never have endings.
Not all of us have to possess earthshaking talent. Just common sense and love will do.
There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy.
I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.
Hope is the feeling you have that the feeling you have isn't permanent.
Men and women are limited not by the place of their birth, not by the color of their skin, but by the size of their hope.
If it were not for hopes, the heart would break.
Hold your head high, stick your chest out. You can make it. It gets dark sometimes, but morning comes. Keep hope alive.
A man sooner or later discovers that he is the master-gardener of his soul, the director of his life.
I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.
We've learned how to destroy, but not to create; how to waste, but not to build; how to kill men, but not how to save them; how to die, but seldom how to live.
What is told into the ear of a man is often heard a hundred miles away.
Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one.
Your secret is your prisoner; once you reveal it, you become its slave.
We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows.
He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.
Our true history is scarcely ever deciphered by others. The chief part of the drama is a monologue, or rather an intimate debate between God, our conscience, and ourselves. Tears, grieves, depressions, disappointments, irritations, good and evil thoughts, decisions, uncertainties, deliberations --all these belong to our secret, and are almost all incommunicable and intransmissible, even when we try to speak of them, and even when we write them down.
But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.
Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: I'm with you kid. Let's go.
The life of every person is like a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another.
Life marches by, I suggest you get on with it.
Life is always walking up to us and saying, 'Come on in, the living's fine,' and what do we do? Back off and take its picture.
You don't get to choose how you're going to die, or when. You can decide how you're going to live now.
Life, an age to the miserable, and a moment to the happy.
To live life well is to express life poorly; if one expresses life too well, one is living it no longer.
Your life is what your thoughts make it.
The art of living is more like that of wrestling than of dancing; the main thing is to stand firm and be ready for an unseen attack.
The energy of the mind is the essence of life.
The drama of life begins with a wail and ends with a sigh.
sometimes you have to just take a chance. and if your scared of the past, just remember it's the past for a reason and it's not worth missing out on great things that could come in the future. take a chance, have no regrets.

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