A Quote by Dorothy L. Sayers

How can I find the words? Poets have taken them all and left me with nothing to say or do" "Except to teach me for the first time what they meant. — © Dorothy L. Sayers
How can I find the words? Poets have taken them all and left me with nothing to say or do" "Except to teach me for the first time what they meant.
The poets are supposed to liberate the words – not chain them in phrases. Who told the poets they were supposed to think? Poets are meant to sing and to make words sing. Writers don't own their words. Since when do words belong to anybody? 'Your very own words,' indeed! And who are you?
I find my voice and manage to say those three one-syllable words back to him. Words I haven't uttered in a very, very long time. Words that meant nothing before now.
I must say what I admire most is the person who masters an area of practical experience, and can teach me something. I mean, my local midwife has taught me how to keep bees. Well, she can't understand anything I write. And I find myself liking her, may I say, more than most poets. And among my friends I find people who know all about boats or know all about certain sports, or how to cut somebody open and remove an organ. I'm fascinated by this mastery of the practical.
I have to tell you it was the first time even after all these years of expecting my own death that i truly knew what it meant to die because with you gone there was nothing left for me to live for.
If I'd find a dog, I'd try to find the owner, of course, but it was mine! I just can't live without them; I love them so much. I have cats, too. People call me all the time and say, 'We know of a couple of cats people don't care for,' and I say, 'Bring them!' That's it - two words. I'm always open for that.
Three days after my boyfriend left me, I discovered a closetful of his clothes. I thought of what I'd done in the past (bundling them up and sending them, COD: distributing them to my friends) even as I already had the scissors in hand and was cutting his shirts and a pair of pants into teeny pieces. When there was nothing left of his ghost except a large pile of cloth, I decided to learn how to quilt.
I have this theory that the more important and intimate the emotion, the fewer words are required to express it. For instance in dating: 'Will you go out with me?' Six words. 'I really care for you.' Five words. 'You matter to me' Four words. 'I love you.' Three words. 'Marry me.' Two words. Well, what's left? What's the one most important and intimate word you can ever say to somebody? 'Goodbye...'
But one of the things I have learned during the time I have spent in the United States is an old African American saying: Each one, teach one. I want to believe that I am here to teach one and, more, that there is one here who is meant to teach me. And if we each one teach one, we will make a difference.
A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.
God, teach me to be patient, teach me to go slow, Teach me how to wait on You when my way I do not know. Teach me sweet forbearance when things do not go right So I remain unruffled when others grow uptight. Teach me how to quiet my racing, rising heart So I might hear the answer You are trying to impart. Teach me to let go, dear God, and pray undisturbed until My heart is filled with inner peace and I learn to know your will.
One thing people always ask me is 'How do you play outside?' ... I have no idea how to teach that, but when I was discussing this with our bass player Jesse Murphy, he said 'tell them to go cliff diving'... In other words, when you're jamming, you have to take risks if you want to find new sounds.
How does God teach me love? By putting me around unlovely people. How does God teach me joy in the middle of grief? Not happiness, which is based on happenings. How does God teach me peace? Not when I am out fishing and everything is going my way and it doesn't get better than this. But in the middle of chaos. How does God teach me patience? By putting me in His waiting room.
In general, I find that poets spend a lot of time thinking about themselves, and not a lot of time thinking about other poets, or other poetry. Unless they think about how it affects them, or how it could impact them.
Part of me loves and respects men so desperately, and part of me thinks they are so embarrassingly incompetent at life and in love. You have to teach them the very basics of emotional literacy. You have to teach them how to be there for you, and part of me feels tender toward them and gentle, and part of me is so afraid of them, afraid of any more violation.
We were in Greenville, South Carolina, where he lived, and he was coming the next day to the show, but he passed away the night before. I was very close to my grandfather. He was the first guy to teach me how to ride a motorcycle, so (his death) meant a lot to me. It just gave me a perspective on life and how important it is to live it and enjoy it while we're here. Sometimes we're looking for the grass to be greener, and what's awesome is right in front of you.
As if he was beating me to the punch, his words living forever, while I was left speechless, no rebuttal, no words left to say.
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