910 Ink Quotes

When it's time for you to write how you want your life to go just write right before your pen run out of ink because i know the opportunity is jusT once and if u miss it, then you hustle very hard to get it ~ Efiba Progress

Of all the works by Victor Hugo the poetic generation of 1880 preferred above all the Chansons des Rues et des Bois ('Songs of the Streets and Woods') and the late poems such as Ce que dit Ia Bouche d'Ombre ('What says the mouth of shadow'), written during a period of intense spiritualism. Quite apart from drawings done during seances, for the most part caricatures, hob-goblins and ghouls, the graphic work of Hugo is that of a visionary. Wood engravers beautifully reproduced these visions as illustrations for Le Rhin ('The Rhine') or Les Travailleurs de la Mer ('The Toilers of the Sea'). Drawn beside cursed romantic castles and storm-tossed lighthouses, ink blots become angels or skeletons, accidental stains become souls or flowers, ambiguities and metamorphoses provide prodigious leaven for the imagination: 'The magnificent imagination which flows through the drawings of Victor Hugo like the mystery in the sky' (Baudelaire). ~ Philippe Jullian

Printer's ink, when it spells out a doctor's promise to cure, is one of the subtlest and most dangerous of poisons. ~ Samuel Hopkins Adams

From Binet, the idea of measuring imagination with inkblots spread to a string of American intelligence-testing pioneers and educators - Dearborn, Sharp, Whipple, Kirkpatrick. It reached Russia as well, where a psychology professor named Fyodor Rybakov, unaware of the Americans' work, included a series of eight blots in his Atlas of the Experimental-Psychology Study of Personality (1910). It was an American, Guy Montrose Whipple, who called his version an "ink-blot test" in his Manual of Mental and Physical Tests (also 1910) - this is why the Rorschach cards would come to be called "inkblots" when American psychologists took them ~ Damion Searls

Were you acquainted with me, you would know that my failings are equal to my victories. On my own, I am no more than a pauper. It is the Prince for whom I live and for whom I fight. He raised me from the mire and made me a son. I will aspire to serve Him to the utmost, and perhaps my duty to Him will be fulfilled more as a herald than as a warrior, for if my quill and ink capture your attention and cause you to ponder the chronicles of this great kingdom and the story of the Prince, then I am content. ~ Chuck Black

The power of the pen does not reside in the ink but in the character of the person doing the writing. ~ Aaron Fruh

We turn our backs on nature; we are ashamed of beauty. Our wretched tragedies have a smell of the office clinging to them, and the blood that trickles from them is the color of printer's ink. ~ Albert Camus

I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I've seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers' guns away from me in District 11. I don't know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don't notice much because they're so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. ~ Suzanne Collins

I couldn't exactly sit in the dripping yukata. The ink had stained all the embroidered cherry petals black.
"It's totally ruined," I said. "I hope Yuki won't be mad."
"It's not your fault. Well, it might be," he added with a grin. ~ Amanda Sun

Light itself was your first love: you paint only as a means of telling about light... Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only what they say about Him. ~ C.S. Lewis

I scored a 910 on my SAT. I didn't care about education. I don't know what I cared about. ~ Skeet Ulrich

From the foot of the pyramids I contemplate twenty centuries, buried in the sand ... I came here to hold on to fleeting life, and I see all about me only death ... I write this, not quite knowing what I'm saying, but I dry the ink with the dust of Egyptian queens. ~ Rachel

The bookcase tipped and the book covers opened like wings over an underbelly of white feathers, dirty with ink. ~ Anthony Marra

If I were a heroine in a fairy tale, I often thought, and a fairy godmother offered to grant me wishes, I would ask for peaches-and-cream skin, eyes like deep blue pools, hair like spun gold instead of blackest ink. I knew I would be worthy of it all. There was nothing I wouldn't trade for that kind of magic, that kind of beauty. If you were pretty, if you were normal, if you were white, then the good things everyone saw on the outside would match the goodness you knew existed on the inside. And wouldn't it be wonderful to go to sleep one night and wake up an entirely different person, one who would be loved and welcomed everywhere? Wouldn't it be wonderful to look at your face in the mirror and know you would always belong? ~ Nicole Chung

The river runs every shade of blue that has ever been known to humankind: ink and turquoise and lapis, indigo, teal, cerulean, and ultramarine. ~ Alice Hoffman

Not all loves are meant to last forever. Some burn like fire until there is nothing left but ash and black ink on skin. ~ Zoraida Cordova

The Woman Poet // Die Dichterin

You hold me now completely in your hands.

My heart beats like a frightened little bird's
Against your palm. Take heed! You do not think
A person lives within the page you thumb.
To you this book is paper, cloth, and ink,

Some binding thread and glue, and thus is dumb,
And cannot touch you (though the gaze be great
That seeks you from the printed marks inside),
And is an object with an object's fate.

And yet it has been veiled like a bride,
Adorned with gems, made ready to be loved,
Who asks you bashfully to change your mind,
To wake yourself, and feel, and to be moved.

But still she trembles, whispering to the wind:
"This shall not be." And smiles as if she knew.
Yet she must hope. A woman always tries,
Her very life is but a single "You . . ."

With her black flowers and her painted eyes,
With silver chains and silks of spangled blue.
She knew more beauty when a child and free,
But now forgets the better words she knew.

A man is so much cleverer than we,
Conversing with himself of truth and lie,
Of death and spring and iron-work and time.
But I say "you" and always "you and I."

This book is but a girl's dress in rhyme,
Which can be rich and red, or poor and pale,
Which may be wrinkled, but with gentle hands,
And only may be torn by loving nails.

Gertrud Kolmar

These words are not constructed of ink and paper. They are no formed of movement and sound. They are echoes of my soul. May they ripple outward and give strength to those who hear them. ~ Marina Cohen

Austin cupped her face then sighed. "I'm so glad you came into the shop that morning."

"You were an asshole, but I love you anyway."

"Legs, I'm still an asshole, but I love you too. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

Earl spun but was not at all prepared for what he saw; something lumpy, black like the water, slid back beneath the surface like ink flowing into ink, and he could've sworn that for the briefest of moments he saw a glowing, pale yellow eye. ~ Sean J. Quirk

Earlier in the day, while killing some hours by circling in blue ballpoint ink every uppercase M in the front section of a month-old New York Times, Chip had concluded that he was behaving like a depressed person. Now, as his telephone began to ring, it occurred to him that a depressed person ought to continue staring at the TV and ignore the ringing - ought to light another cigarette and, with no trace of emotional affect, watch another cartoon while his machine took whoever's message. That his impulse, instead, was to jump to his feet and answer the phone - that he could so casually betray the arduous wasting of a day - cast doubt on the authenticity of his suffering. He felt as if he lacked the ability to lose all volition and connection with reality the way depressed people did in books and movies. It seemed to him, as he silenced the TV and hurried into his kitchen, that he was failing even at the miserable task of falling properly apart. ~ Jonathan Franzen

I rubbed my left forearm and hand, the entirety of which was now covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. Even my fingers weren't spared, and a large eye was tattooed in the center of my palm. It was feline, and its slitted pupil stared right back at me. ~ Sarah J. Maas

My friends are coming up - they run this tattoo parlour out there and they're gonna ink me up with the tattoo I've been wanting since I was two, right here, upper arm. ~ Charlie Benante

Talking won't change it. But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone; often, though, she just wanted to escape those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness. ~ Melissa Marr

What's the difference between a dream and a goal?
Ink. That's right. Goals must be written down. ~ Del Suggs

Steele knew Breezy wasn't going to be won over easily, but as far as he was concerned, there was no other choice. He 'had' to win her over for his own self-preservation. ~ Christine Feehan

People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. ~ Diane Setterfield

Write, if you must; not otherwise. Do not write, if you can earn a fair living at teaching or dressmaking, at electricity or hod-carrying. Make shoes, weed cabbages, survey land, keep house, make ice-cream, sell cake, climb a telephone pole. Nay, be a lightning-rod peddler or a book agent, before you set your heart upon it that you shall write for a living ... Living? It is more likely to be dying by your pen; despairing by your pen; burying hope and heart and youth and courage in your ink-stand. ~ Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward

She was inside him, wrapped around his organs. His heart. Maybe his damn soul if he had one. He let himself smile. She was there.She wasn't going anyplace ~ Christine Feehan

In the middle distance, sails were gliding like butterflies, and farther away, ships dotted the mouth of the bay between Awa and Sagami as if brushed in ink in a single flowing stroke. ~ Haruo Shirane

I scratch down happiness, I
want my ink to do happy dances,
to careen across the pages staggering
like a drunken fellow, giddy
on moonshine or sunset. ~ Bryana Johnson

And I tell you that you should open yourselves to hearing an authentic poet, of the kind whose bodily senses were shaped in a world that is not our own and that few people are able to perceive. A poet closer to death than to philosophy, closer to pain than to intelligence, closer to blood than to ink. ~ Federico Garcia Lorca

But an ink brush, she thinks, is a skeleton key for a prisoner's mind. ~ David Mitchell

In my position, I think the best thing I do is just keep girlfriend involved. ~ Kid Ink

Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. As one tends the graves of the dead, so I tend the books. And every day I open a volume or two, read a few lines or pages, allow the voices of the forgotten dead to resonate inside my head. ~ Diane Setterfield

Every guy should be the owner of a really nice pen. When you put your thoughts down, or whenever you're going to share something with someone, it means something if it bleeds out in a nice ink. ~ Rami Malek

Blue stands for many things at the end of time: for the forgotten, blazing blue stars of aeons past; the antithesis of redshift, the color of uncut veins beneath your skin.
This story is written in blue ink, although you do not know that yet. ~ Yoon Ha Lee

When we think we can do it all ourselves
fix, save, buy, or date a nice solution
it's hopeless. We're going to screw things up. We're going to get our tentacles wrapped around things and squirt our squiddy ink all over, so that there is even less visibility, and then we're going to squeeze the very life out of everything. ~ Anne Lamott

The things that were needed to keep the imagination free were "all written down in this age of reason." It was time to take the opportunity to use this imagination. All bets were off, "Fire at will." Standing next to the message in Pulling Punches, where there was only the faintest hint of solace, the message in The Ink in the Well seemed to be that in Picasso, Cocteau, and Sartre, a home of sorts had been found that went some way to - if not answering the questions - opening the mind to give the insight possible to find the answers. The references to Sartre and Cocteau were oblique and hidden in the phrase "The blood of a poet, the ink in the well, it's all written down in this age of reason. ~ Christopher E. Young

As Shane threaded between the cars and crossed the lot, all Crystal could do was stare. At the determination in his sexy, powerful stride. At the way those jeans hung on his lean hips and came down around a pair of losely tied brown boots. At the way the breadth of his shoulders pulled the slate blue button-down tight across his chest. Hands in his pockets, he gave her a crooked smile that made her belly flutter and her cheeks heat.
"Hey darlin'," he said as he stepped up on the sidewalk.
"Hi," she said. ~ Laura Kaye

I might be afraid when I see blank papers but once my ink drops on it, it gives me crazy drive to fill all those empty pages ~ Alexina Benavidez

But the point is, when the writer turns to address the reader, he or she must not only speak to me - naively dazzled and wholly enchanted by the complexities of the trickery, and thus all but incapable of any criticism, so that, indeed, he can claim, if he likes, priestly contact with the greater powers that, hurled at him by the muse, travel the parsecs from the Universe's furthest shoals, cleaving stars on the way, to shatter the specific moment and sizzle his brains in their pan, rattle his teeth in their sockets, make his muscles howl against his bones, and to galvanize his pen so the ink bubbles and blisters on the nib (nor would I hear her claim to such as other than a metaphor for the most profound truths of skill, craft, or mathematical and historical conjuration) - but she or he must also speak to my student, for whom it was an okay story, with just so much description. ~ Samuel R. Delany

Gene Colan was like no other artist of his generation. His ability to create dramatic, multi-valued tonal illustrations using straight India ink and board was unparalleled. ~ Jim Lee

I can do it, yes I can." from "You can do it, yes you can." Think Tank Ink for Scriptwriters. ~ Lena "Think Tank Ink" Banks

It was a boy with a clean record, a winning smile and a glorious halo who broke me. Ironically, it's the boy with the rap sheet, a body full of ink and the dangerous glint in his eye who's putting me back together. ~ Callie Hart

I feel as though my history is being rewritten, infinite paragraphs scratched out and hastily revised. Old and new images--memories--layer atop each other until the ink runs, rupturing the scenes into something new, something incomprehensible. ~ Tahereh Mafi