#writerquotes

[jaggedjawjosh]

In the quiet pulse of your dreams, you are the architect of stars, crafting constellations of tomorrow with the bold stroke of your own light.

[slimmwrites]

Look at you. You're young, and you're scared, Why are you so scared? Stop being paralyzed. Stop swallowing your words. Stop caring what other people think. Wear what you want. Say what you want. Listen to the music you want to listen to. Play it loud as fuck and dance to it. Go out for a drive at midnight and forget that you have school the next day. Stop waiting for Friday. Live now. Do it now. Take risks. Tell secrets. Tell secrets. This life is yours. When are you going to realize that you can do whatever you want?

Louise Flory

[devanshim]

Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on

Loius L’Amour

[magnificentsoulsoul]

How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger

Virginia Woolf

[kaseyfaur]

"There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you." -Zora Neale Hurston

[haileygarciasunshine]

“Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.”

-Natalie Goldberg

[bemysavingrace]

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine”.

~~Kafka on the shore.

[amcastell-blog]

Sylvia Plath had a #hermes3000 just like this one. Late at night when the tears do not come, I light a candle on my windowsill and let the clacking of the keyboard engulf me. The rhythm pulls the muse awake and together we sit in the darkness; writing about the one I think about too much. Some call it heartbreak, but as a writer, I am thankful for the inspiration.