Ink Stain Quotes

My table is now brightly, now dimly lighted. Its temperature varies. It may receive an ink stain. One of its legs may be broken. It may be repaired, polished, and replaced part by part. But, for me, it remains the table at which I daily write. ~ Ernst Mach

If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you're no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you'll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.

Poem N. 8 ~ Alaska Gold

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. ~ Jazz Feylynn

Paris is pregnant with layers of history, colored with the ink of artists who dared to dream of a world only they could see. ~ Kimberly Kinrade

She made herself look. To face down that place of pain and despair. It would always leave a mark, a stain on her, but she would not let it define her.

Hers was not a story of darkness.

This would not be the story. She would fold it into herself , this place, this fear, but it would not be the whole story. It would not be her story. ~ Sarah J. Maas

The weakest ink is better than the best memory. Study with pen in hand. ~ Adrian Rogers

I didn't look to the shore much after this first long and memorable glimpse. I looked up at Heaven and her court of mythical creatures fixed forever in the all powerful and inscrutable stars. Ink black was the night beyond them, and they so like jewels that old poetry came back to me, the sound even of hymns sung only by men. ~ Anne Rice

The texts are pristine, printed in colors so brilliant, the ink looks fresh. Every few feet, a spine pushes in between adjacent texts, like a new book has just been birthed. It's a living library. ~ Romina Garber

Ink and parchment flowed through her veins. The magic of the Great Libraries lived in her very bones. They were a part of her, and she a part of them. ~ Margaret Rogerson

You can't get past the liberal press with a bucket of ink. ~ Judy Martz

After the cold gust of wind there was an absolute stillness of the air. The thunder-charged mass hung unbroken beyond the low, ink-black headland, darkening the twilight. By contrast, the sky at the zenith displayed pellucid clearness, the sheen of a delicate glass bubble which the merest movement of air might shatter. A little to the left, between the black masses of the headland and of the forest, the volcano, a feather of smoke by day and a cigar-glow at night, took its first fiery expanding breath of the evening. Above it a reddish star came out like an expelled spark from the fiery bosom of the earth, enchanted into permanency by the mysterious spell of frozen spaces. ~ Joseph Conrad

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

There comes a time when you swim or sink so I jumped in the drink 'cause I couldn't make myself clear. Maybe I wrote in invisible ink, oh I've tried to think how I could've made it appear. ~ Aimee Mann

He didn't move, didn't blink. He didn't seem like a man who heard no too often. Too bad. But he must have found something he liked, because he slowly undid his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt.

She would not drool.

He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Austin had said Morgan was forty years old, but he didn't look it. Nor did he have the body of a twenty-year-old man. Callie didn't want that anyway. His body had aged beautifully and was clearly well cared for. He had some hair on his chest, but not much. The hair on his belly trailed down to beneath his dress pants and Callie did her best not to swallow her tongue.

She persevered.

Barely. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

An offer indeed," said Lord Brandoch Daha; "if it be not in mockery. Say it loud, that my folk may hear." Corund did so, and the Demons heard it from the walls of the burg. Lord Brandoch Daha stood somewhat apart from Juss and Spitfire and their guard. "Libel it me out," he said. "For good as I now must deem thy word, thine hand and seal must I have to show my followers ere they consent with me in such a thing."
"Write thou," said Corund to Gro. "To write my name is all my scholarship." And Gro took forth his ink-born and wrote in a great fair hand this offer on a parchment. "The most fearfullest oaths thou knowest," said Corund; and Gro wrote them, whispering, "He mocketh us only." But Corund said, "No matter: 'tis a chance worth our chancing," and slowly and with labour signed his name to the writing, and gave it to Lord Brandoch Daha. Brandoch Daha read it attentively, and tucked it in his bosom beneath his byrny.
"This," he said, "shall be a keepsake for me of thee, my Lord Corund. Reminding me," and here his eyes grew terrible, "so long as there surviveth a soul of you in Witchland, that I am still to teach the world throughly what that man must abide that durst affront me with such an offer. ~ E.R. Eddison

She might burn in hell for the things she was going to do this night, but she didn't care. Looking at him, she was certain every single thing would be worth it. ~ Christine Feehan

I am a creator, writing like the wind, I carry the weight of a future world in the barrel of a pen, etching my characters into the paper with life giving ink so my dreams and reality might finally meet. ~ L.M. Fields

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

To the composition of novels and romances, nothing is necessary but paper, pens, and ink, with the manual capacity of using them. ~ Henry Fielding

Books, too, had hearts, though they were not the same as people's, and a book's heart could be broken: she had seen it happen before. Grimoires that refused to open, their voices gone silent, or whose ink faded and bled across the pages like tears. ~ Margaret Rogerson

Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them--made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same. ~ Ryan Graudin

I love hitting the stage and I don't think I could trade that for sitting in the basement making beats. ~ Kid Ink

When you read a manuscript that has been damaged by water, fire, light or just the passing of the years, your eye needs to study not just the shape of the letters but other marks of production. The speed of the pen. The pressure of the hand on the page. Breaks and releases in the flow. You must relax. Think of nothing. Until you wake into a dream where you are at once a pen flying of vellum and the vellum itself with the touch of ink tickling your surface. Then you can read it. The intention of the writer, his thoughts, his hesitations, his longings and his meaning. You can read as clearly as if you were the very candlelight illuminating the page as the pen speeds over it. ~ Diane Setterfield

It's not always the easiest thing to be the center of so much spilled ink. ~ Tim Tebow

from the poem: MANNEQUINS THAT SWEAT BLACK INK AND NEVER HAVE ANY FUN

If you put a twizzler in your ear it looks like your ear is vomiting blood. ~ Sam Pink

What books meant, the possibility they presented: you could protect them forever, store them up like engineers store water, endless resources of time and knowledge snared in ink, tied down to paper, layered on shelves ... Moments made physical, untouchable, perfect, like preserving a dead hornet in crystal, one drop of venom forever hanging from its stinger. ~ Robert Jackson Bennett

As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

I began composing the next poem, the one that was to be written next. Not the last poem of those I had read, but the poem written in the head of someone who may never have existed but who had certainly written another poem nonetheless, and just never had the chance to commit it to ink and the page. ~ Steve Erickson

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven. ~ Robert Southey

Books are more than the physical sum of ink and paper. Books have heart. And heart can last generations. ~ Jay Gershwin

A stain. It's all that's left of us when we're gone. ~ S. Johnathan Davis

Black drinks the sun and draws all colours into it.
I am bleached white, my truant love. Come back,
and stain me with the intensity of black. ~ Robert Graves

Nice gate,Ella."
I looked back at Daniel. He waved torward my lap.
"Oh." I draw on my eans when I don't have paper.My bus had gotten stuck behind a trash truck, right in front of a seriously old churchyard. "Thanks." I wasn't sure how I felt about Daniel staring at my thigh, even if he had recognized the sketch for what it was.
"Here." Suddenly, he had a booted foot on the rung of my chair, legs spread, one pressed against mine. "Draw something."
"Oh,please," Frankie muttered from his other side.
I shook my head. "I don't have a pen."
Sadie promptly disappeared beneath the table.I could hear the clank of Marc acobs chain handles and had a feeling in a second she would be asking, "Blue ink or black?"
"Don't you dare,Sadie," Frankie said cheerfully. "Ella does not want to be inscribing my brother's crotch."
True, I didn't. Except I had the clearest vision of how a little Italian portal devil would look on the faded denim...
"Fair enough," Daniel said, sliding his foot off my chair. But he actually looked disappointed. For a second, anyway. "I assume there's food coming?"
"There is," Frankie answered. "I'm sure it will come a hell of a lot faster if you do your vampire boy thing on Chloe again."
"Tsk,tsk. Jealousy, Miss Thing."
They bared their teeth at each other. It was scarily pretty. ~ Melissa Jensen

I know that weeds shall grow in it
Faster than men can burn;
And though they scatter now and go,
In some far century, sad and slow,
I have a vision, and I know
The heathen shall return.
They shall not come with warships,
They shall not waste with brands,
But books be all their eating,
And ink be on their hands. ~ G.K. Chesterton

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

As a schoolboy I liked to draw the leaders of the world proletariat - especially Marx. Just start smearing an ordinary splotch of ink around and you've already got a resemblance ... ~ Sergei Dovlatov

She had found more than peace of mind. She had discovered the state of her soul set down in ink. ~ Nancy Horan

Advertising is the ability to sense, interpret ... to put the very heart throbs of a business into type, paper and ink. ~ Leo Burnett

THE FLECKS OF MY ENEMY'S BLOOD THAT STAIN THIS SUIT. THEY'RE MY PRIDE AND JOY.
"THIS SUIT LOOKS WHITE BECAUSE OF THE RED OF THE BLOOD ON IT." THAT'S WHY I FIGHT.
FOR YOU BIG BRO. THE AWSOMELY INSANE. TO MAKE YOU AWSOMELY HAPPY...
WHETHER AT AOGIRI OR AT GOAT, I'VE FOUGHT AT THE VERY FRONT LINES. ALL THE WAY.
AND TOWARDS THE END, I EVEN LEARNED A FEW NEW WORDS. I HAD FUN. IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN A FEW MORE WORDS, I'D HAVE BEEN ABLE TO TALK TO YOU MORE, BIG BRO.
I THINK ABOUT THAT SOMETIMES. I DON'T THINK JUST LIVING IS THAT BIG OF A DEAL. I REALLY BELIEVE I'LL BE ABLE TO SEE YOU IF I DIE.
SO I'M NOT SCARED. DEATH ISN'T THAT BAD. I HATE THE FACT THAT I LOST, THOUGH
BUT YOU KNOW, BRO. I... I'M NOT SAD AT ALL.

NAKI ~ Sui Ishida

If the beginning of wisdom is in realizing that one knows nothing, then the beginning of understanding is in realizing that all things exist in accord with a single truth: Large things are made of smaller things.
Drops of ink are shaped into letters, letters form words, words form sentences, and sentences combine to express thought. So it is with the growth of plants that spring from seeds, as well as with walls built from many stones. So it is with mankind, as the customs and traditions of our progenitors blend together to form the foundation for our own cities, history, and way of life.
Be they dead stone, living flesh, or rolling sea; be they idle times or events of world-shattering proportion, market days or desperate battles, to this law, all things hold: Large things are made from small things. Significance is cumulative
but not always obvious.
Gaius Secondus ~ Jim Butcher

Mrs. Indianapolis was in town again. She looked like a can of Sprite in her green and yellow outfit. She always likes to come down to the front desk just to chat. It was 4:04 am and thankfully I was awake and at the front desk when she got off the elevator and walked towards me. 

"Good morning, Jacob," she said.

"My name is Jarod," I replied.

"When did you change your name?"
"I was born Jarod, and I'll probably die. Maybe."

"You must be new here. You look like a guy named Jacob that used to work at the front desk."

"Nope, I'm not new. And there's no Jacob that's worked the front desk, nor anybody who looks or looked like me. How can I assist you, Mrs. Indianapolis?"

"I'd like to inform you that the pool is emitting a certain odor."

"What sort of odor?"

"Bleach."

"Ah, that's what we like to call chlorine. It's the latest craze in the sanitation of public pools. Between you and me, though, I think it's just a fad."

"Don't get sassy with me, young man. I know what chlorine is. I expect a clean pool when I go swimming. But what I don't expect is enough bleach to get the grass stain out of a shirt the size of Kentucky."

"That's not our policy, ma'am. We only use about as much chlorine as it would take to remove a coffee stain the size of Seattle from a light gray shirt the size of Washington."
"Jerry, I don't usually give advice to underlings, but I'm feeling charitable tonight. So I'll tell you that if yo ~ Jarod Kintz

Sometimes you don't get redeemed... Not every stain comes out. Sometimes you do something bad enough that you carry the consequences for the rest of your life and take the regrets to the grave. That's your happy ending. ~ James S.A. Corey

In itself it is nothing. Nothing but a book: parchment, colouring, ink. Yet the most perishable material is at the same time the most durable substance in the world ... ~ Lion Feuchtwanger

Black ink was always my favorite. I loved it. And then one day I realized that the only thing I ever wanted to do was to paint. ~ Pierre Soulages

No war. Fight with your pen. Give your battle-cry in ink, and mark your dreams down on a page ~ Susan Fletcher