Of course, you can say it backwards, which is dociousaliexpilisticfragicalirupus, but that's going a bit too far, don't you think?
poetry is where the language is renewed.
I just don't know how to stitch words in a predictable way sometimes. It's a weird instinct I've developed.
When I was little, seven or eight years old, in third and fourth grade, I would always try to use long words and stuff.
I remember reading Dr. Seuss books, and he's rhyming so many words together and I just loved the way it sounded. It became a challenge for me, to put words together that nobody would ever think about putting together.
Speaks cheerful English and in the past has written this language with a paintbrush that talks.
A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
I definitely have a gift for language that is rhythmic and attractive to the ear, and I have interesting [verbal] imagery which I guess is a poetic touch.
I used to think there was something cheap in trying to make beautiful sentences. Now I think language has its own ways and ends, and it does one's thinking good to try to serve them. Beauty isn't truth. But a certain kind of clear beauty will help in the pursuit of truth.
Everything is organic. I got the wordplay, I got the vocabulary to really, really rap.
Nothing feels better than constructing a beautiful sentence.
I was a drama major also so it's cool to cuss for meaning, but for no apparent reason, no.
I didn't lie, I was writing fiction with my mouth.
It used to be that phrases and lines would come into my head, often many of them in a period of five days or a week, and maybe I didn't know what I was talking about, but the words had a kind of heaviness or deliciousness to them.
You know, people speak in poetry all the time. They just don't realize it.
As a writer, I play with words all day long. I toy with them, listen for their overtones, crack them open, and try to stuff my thoughts inside.
So many times I feel I'm using the same words over and over, like a woman wearing the same dress every day. So boring!
A lot of innovation in language comes from poetry.
I continue to write essays about art. The visual is always part of my work, and it gives me immense pleasure to make up the words of art and create them verbally rather than build them.
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite.
I don't like cursing in movies. I feel like cursing has become the new hackiness. You try to find substitutions for cursing.
There is no such thing as too much swearing. Swearing is just a piece of linguistic mechanics. The words in-between are the clever ones.
If you eat enough books, you start pooping out words.
The word-coining genius, as if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.
