We never say so much as when we do not quite know what we want to say. We need few words when we have something to say, but all the words in all the dictionaries will not suffice when we have nothing to say and want desperately to say it.
Half the time I don't know what I'm trying to say.
It's very hard to articulate the things that are important about writing.
Every word written is a net to catch the word that has escaped.
Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
Language should almost break up or explode in its fruitless effort to contain so many meanings.
I have always had this failing - that I cannot explain myself, as I have said, except at the cost of many words.
Negotiating with memories isn't easy: how to choose between those panting to be told, those still ripening, those already shriveling, and those destined to be mangled by language and come out pulverized?
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot. My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man.
Words are often seen hunting for an idea, but ideas are never seen hunting for words.
I question every word; I write 'the' and immediately feel scorn. It's such an ordinary word - everybody uses it - why can't I come up with something original? In the sunlight, every single word seems hackneyed.
I mean, I have moments of huge frustration because of my inability to express myself linguistically as clearly as I would like to.
Words strain, crack, and sometime break, under the burden.
The longer one doesn't write, the more difficult it is to communicate.
Have you ever had so much to say that your mouth closed up so tight, struggling to harness the nuclear force coalescing within your words?" -346
Trying to use words, and every attempt Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure Because one has only learnt to get the better of words For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate With shabby equipment always deteriorating In the general mess of imprecision of feeling.
The names for things don't come first. Words stagger after, hopelessly trying to become the sensation.
I huff and puff and struggle with every sentence, paragraph and page - sometimes every word as well.
I wish I could say everything in one word. I hate all the things that can happen between the beginning of a sentence and the end.
Words felt so clumsy when she was talking about feelings and not facts.
The wordy tale, once told, were hard to tell again.
I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
I have trouble voicing my thoughts... I can't communicate very well that way.
My emotions lose their force when I endeavor to interpret them, and my words seem very inept.
I talk a lot in metaphors. I get my words out but sometimes they don't make sense.
