I met Steve McQueen once. Well, met isn't really the right word.
Sometimes I'll come up with a lick that I really love, and I'll try to put the right words to it for years. Suddenly something comes to me that works just right.
Love shouldn't hurt. Love is to help the other grow with the right words instead of using derogatory remarks. Everyone has their good points
Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.
My idea of writing is of unflinching and continual effort, somehow trying to find the right words until you reach a point where you can make no further progress and you either have something or you don’t.
I found I'm quite happy working on a sentence for an hour or more, searching for the right phrase, the right word. I compare it to the work of a stonecutter - chipping away at the raw material until it's just right, or as right as you can get it.
There is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we shall hear the right word.
I like playing around with the words; I love it when I feel like I've picked the exact right word to describe whatever it is I'm trying to describe
All these questions about do you want to be king? It's not a question of wanting to be, it's something I was born into and it's my duty. . . . Wanting is not the right word. But those stories about me not wanting to be king are all wrong.
I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.
People in power have to be careful about what comes out of their mouth. They have to find exactly the right word that can't be attacked.
I set myself 600 words a day as a minimum output, regardless of the weather, my state of mind or if I'm sick or well. There must be 600 finished words — not almost right words. Before you ask, I'll tell you that yes, I do write 600 at the top of my pad every day, and I keep track of the word count to insure I reach my quota daily — without fail.
People never explain to you exactly what they think and feel and how their thoughts and feelings work, do they? They don't have time. Or the right words. But that's what books do. It's as though your daily life is a film in the cinema. It can be fun, looking at those pictures. But if you want to know what lies behind the flat screen you have to read a book. That explains it all.
Whoever said men hit harder when women are around, is right. Word for word, we beat the love out of each other.
As for those whose role it is to love us - I mean, relatives and in-laws (what a word)- It's a different tune. They find the right word, but it's usually the one that wounds.
Words have power," Isaac answered. Words begin and end wars. They create and destroy families. They break hearts. They heal them. If you have the right words, there's nothin on earth you can't do." - Crave the Moon
Though there was no sound, there was a change. The atmosphere, which had gone tense at my accusation, relaxed. I wondered how I knew this. I had a strange sensation that I was somehow receiving more than my five senses were giving me - almost a feeling that there was another sense, on the fringes, not quite harnessed. Intuition? That was almost the right word. As if any creature needed more than five senses.
Be honest, how hideous do I look?" He took another step back and pursed his lips. "That bad, huh?" I muttered. No, no Bella. Actually. . ." He seemed to be struggling for the right word. "You look. . .sexy." I laughed out loud. "Right." Very sexy, really.
I wanted to tell him so. Find the right words, string them together in the ideal way, knowing that here they would have the best chance of sounding perfect.
Be proud of your mistakes. Well, proud may not be exactly the right word, but respect them, treasure them, be kind to them, learn from them. And, more than that, and more important than that, make them. Make mistakes. Make great mistakes, make wonderful mistakes, make glorious mistakes. Better to make a hundred mistakes than to stare at a blank piece of paper too scared to do anything wrong.
There are some experiences in life they haven't invented the right words for.
I’m not good at talking,” Naoko said. “Haven’t been for the longest while. I start to say something and the wrong words come out. Wrong or sometimes completely backward. I try to go back and correct it, but things get even more complicated and confused, so that I don’t even remember what I started to say in the first place. Like I was split into two or something, one half chasing the other. And there’s this big pillar in the middle and they go chasing each other around and around it. The other me always latches onto the right word and this me absolutely never catches up
I've always been an ironic dreamer, unfaithful to my inner promises. Like a complete outsider, a casual observer of whom I thought I was, I've always enjoyed watching my daydreams go down in defeat. I was never convinced of what I believed in. I filled my hands with sand, called it gold, and opened them up to let it slide through. Words were my only truth. When the right words were said, all was done; the rest was the sand that had always been.
Look! You got sparklies like akri. He gives all of his to me. He say I look beautiful in sparklies, ‘specially them red ones that match my eyes. Here, Astrid. I know you can’t see it, Astrid, but it’s very lovely, like you. You need to wear that and then you have sparklies, too. But still no hornays. We need to fix you up with hornays one day so you can be a demon, too. It’s fun being a demon – except when people try to exercise you…Wait, that’s not the right word. I forget, but you know what I mean. (Simi)
Cecil flashed a grin. "Quite. Plus your rather irritating habit of treating your superior officers as your, ah..." Cecil paused, apparently groping again for just the right word. "Equals?" Miles hazarded. "Cattle," Cecil corrected judiciously.
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