Quotes about ink

The core of your true self is never lost. Let go of all the pretending and the becoming you've done just to belong.Curl up with your rawness and come home. You don't have to find yourself you just have to let yourself in.

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.Hi, I'm Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don't think there's a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.

The ink line drawing flowed the cursive journey,created on paper canvas that brought the story to life.

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.

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.

You should be more carefulwhen you move, my dearwhat with you...spilling moonlightinto my poem, with a mereflick of your hand.

Stars ink your fingerswith a lexicon of flameblazing rare knowledge.

Only government can take perfectly good paper, cover it with perfectly good ink and make the combination worthless.

The very ink with which history is written is merely fluid prejudice.

I'm the old type setter who gets his blood poisoned from the ink.

Whether this blood was daemon, human, or something else, it was still only blood, and blood was only the ink of life.

Vassily cleared his throat, probably impatient with Gabriel's bookshelf manners. 'You'll have to excuse me,' Gabriel said, putting back the booklet, 'I have a severe addiction to ink.''Don't we all?' Vassily nodded. 'Thank God we have other addictions to assuage it a little.

The letter we all love to receive is one that carries so much of the writer’s personality that she seems to be sitting beside us, looking at us directly and talking just as she really would, could she have come on a magic carpet, instead of sending her proxy in ink-made characters on mere paper.

The book did not say anything about a statue, valuable or otherwise, and so I stopped reading about the Bombinating Beast and got interested in the chapter about the Stain'd witches, who had ink instead of blood in their veins. I wondered what they kept in their pens.

Teachers' favorite color ink, splashed and dripped down his face a grisly reminder of mistakes bruising his life.

A letter to the beloved is like the ink kissing the paper. (Une lettre à l'aimée, c'est - L'encre embrassant le papier)

Now relax, think positively and begin --- the smile of success awaits you.

Don't shrink your standards, link yourself with those who think and ink like you.

...I deliberately spilled the black ink of despair because my perfect soul was a stained glass illusion - can you understand that?...

Memory is more indelible than ink.

Had I just made a date with a tatted up bat wielding miscreant?

The ink in the pen that writes success stories is "FOCUS"...

The ink in your pen never reshapes your thoughts, you must replace the ink before the ink can be inked properly.

Oh, Narcissus! My heart beats ink for you.A pulse in every line.It's your eyesmy words want to be read by,your kind of mindthey would be understood by,your heartthey'd be felt by,and then you'd feel the same way that I do,if only these words could be read or heard by you.

The word love has always tasted like the scent of fresh ink and soft paper to me. Like a newly written poem.

With different changes but the same plot, sometimes our story has already unfolded. It's just trapped in the pages of ink and paper. God is waiting in His Word.

To recklessly excuse a failure is to believe that I’ve effectively erased it from the story of my life, when I’ve actually imprinted it in indelible ink.

Sometimes you have to go a little crazy before you can find sanity. I think I'm close.

Tattoos are a permanent commitment of passion

Writing has become more than just a profession, and hobby…it has become a way to express my feelings and pour my entire soul into the pages of my books. Thank God for the little things in life that makes us feel infinite and tranquil…the little things that make way for us to escape reality and enter new worlds that we create. -Nina Jean Slack

Best friend is like a pen and we're the paper. We'll not complete without their ink

Do you trust me?"She could still hear him, through flesh and noise."I love you!" she shouted.It wasn't the answer he'd expected or the she'd expected to give. It was the wrong time, the wrong thing to say, but her answer lit a fire in his eyes.

You have never let me down. You are always there for me. You are the best part of me, who I want to be, and every time I look at you I can hardly believe how lucky I am to be with you and I hope you know that.

Joy, you are my everything. You are everything that matters to me. Tell me that you understand. Tell me that you feel this, too.

I am feeling more. I feel everything more. I cannot express it. I can hardly keep track of it all. It is you! All you! Everything!

Never let me lose you, Ink. Never let me screw this up. And never think for one moment that I don't love you, need you or want you with me.

I love you, Ink, and I want you-only you. Being strong doesn't mean I don't want you too. You are the only person who knows every part of my life, every part of me in it, the good and the bad and the horrible, and you still love me. You are always with me, even when you're not there. And when you're not there, I can feel it, like an empty space where you ought to be, and I can hardly wait until you're back to fill it again. Neither world feels like it fits, but we belong.

The Scribe"Under the wingsOf the feathered Goddess,And in the middleOf the three dancing women,The scribe comes aliveTo reveal mysteries hiddenThrough divine gifts givenThe scribe is drivenOn his sacred missionTo wake upAll the universe'sMen, women andHeavenly children.Under the seven rays of Aten,And from the age of just ten,The scribe comes aliveWith the fertile inkOf his luminous pen.Below the spectacle of the moon,And in the smile of the sun,The scribe is here to show usHow we are all one.

The pen is mightier than the sword as long as it doesn't run out of ink.

Getting ink felt right, like it would help her put her life in order, to move forwards. It was her body, despite the things that'd been done to it, and she wanted to claim it, to own it, to prove that to herself. She knew it wasn't magic, but the idea of writing her own identity felt like the closest she could get to reclaiming her life. Sometimes there's power in the act; sometimes there's strength in words. She wanted to find an image that represented those things she was feeling, to etch it o

This is not one of your fictions where people bleed ink.

I think i should get love inked on my skin.Maybe that's the only way i am destined to keep it.

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

Featherweight by Suzy KassemOne evening,I sat by the ocean and questioned the moon about my destiny.I revealed to it that I was beginning to feel smaller compared to others,Because the more secrets of the universe I would unlock,The smaller in size I became.I didn't understand why I wasn't feeling larger instead of smaller.I thought that seeking Truth was what was required of us all –To show us the way, not to make us feel lost,Up against the odds,In a devilish game partitioned byAn invisible wa

My art is that of the 35mm kind; my poetry is of the lead and ink kind; my happiness is of the product of both; and my legacy is of the story of my soul, that my life left behind

There is only as much space, only as much time, Only as much desire, only as many words, Only as many pages, only as much ink To accept all of us at light-speed Hurrying into the Promised Land Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.

I'll always be the yearning poet bleeding ink chasing stars drunk on dreams.

For the first time in my life, I'm doubting my faith, and it terrifies me.For the first time, I want to change the rules. For the first time I wonder: does it matter what it says on your skin, when what's at stake is your soul?

He perched the bat on his shoulder, giving a nod that he understood I needed his help. With one loud yell and a couple swings of the bat, he cleared me another path.

O' melancholy,hectic chill for human soul,herewith dismal presence,any spirit does descent.

I prefer the pen. There is something elemental about the glide and flow of nib and ink on paper.

If life’s pen passion is ink!

Ink, a Drug.

...there was practically one handwriting common to the whole school when it came to writing lines. It resembled the movements of a fly that had fallen into an ink-pot, and subsequently taken a little brisk exercise on a sheet of foolscap by way of restoring the circulation.

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible

Technically, you cannot really own a book you bought; you can only own the sheets of paper your copy is printed on; unless, of course, you are the book’s publisher.

This assignment could damn well project all the words across my face and the ink stain my hands a gory mess before I finished it.

the caress of each word becoming                 one   with the pagetwisting          beneath the touch of the pen                     forming a trail of permanent kisses                  until they reach me

Let thy words be few. I agree, but only if my ink can relentlessly run.

I guess it's better to have a chalk smile, than an ink smile. Where chalk changes with the direction of wind, ink stays as a deep stain. Like rain, sun and hail against a fake plant.

Love is wind for the soul

My heart's scripture tastes foreign in the mouths of cowards and on the tongues of those who have never breathed inthe moon and breathed out the world.

These bits of paper are covered with lies. They poison your minds. And so long as they exist, you cannot hope to see the world as it truly is.(...)You turn to them for answers and salvation. (...) You rely more upon them than upon yourselves. This makes you weak and stupid. You trust in words. Drops of ink. Do you ever stop to think of who put them there? Or why? No. You simply accept their words without question. And what if those words speak falsely, as they often do? This is dangerous.

Action is the ink that writes what you think on the pages of life!

Maybe that's what I needed. Another tattoo. Some pain on the outside to ease the pain on the inside.

Know that blank pages feel the urge of the ink as much as tears paint a different pain, changes

I wear the universe backwards. I imagine putting stars in my coffee, and sugar in the sky. I imagine going fishing in clouds, and watching the sun hide behind lakes. I'm too busy dancing with my imagination to even tip toe with reality for a second. They say I'm going mad. They're right.

The paper is my savior, the pen my blood, to words that shed my world.

Brahma and AiravataLong ago in lands of golden sandBrahma turned to Saraswatiand gently kissed her inked hand....

My tattoos, like most people's, were reminders, badges of personal experiences. Yes, I might wear them on my skin for the world to see, but their meaning was a little too personal.

And then another letter had come from Christopher, so devastating that Amelia wondered how mere scratches of ink on paper could rip someone's soul to shreds. She had wondered how she could feel so much pain and still survive.

Melissa popped open the clattery little Rotring tin. Pencils, putty rubber, scalpel. She sharpened a 3B, letting the curly shavings fall into the wicker bin, then paused for a few seconds, finding a little place of stillness before starting to draw the flowers. Art didn't count at school because it didn't get you into law or banking or medicine. It was just a fluffy thing stuck to the side of Design and Technology, a free A level for kids who could do it, like a second language, but she loved ch

Inking is meditation in liquid form...

The pages afforded glimpses into my soul where I'd hidden it, behind masks of paper and ink.

If e-book readers were invented before print books, (petty things such as) the smell of ink would have been some people’s only reason for not abandoning e-books.

To say she is only a woman is to say a violin is a piece of wood with strings, and Dante is mere ink printed on paper.