Best 3547 quotes in «language quotes» category

Mikä etu, mikä verraton taivaan lahja onkaan mielihyvän ilmaisemisen taito äänin ja elein. - Ensin hyräilin, sitten sain tuon jäljittelemättömän kyvyn heilautella häntääni mitä siroimmissa kiekuroissa, sitten ihmeellisen lahjan ilmaista yhdellä pikku sanalla iloa, surua, riemua ja ihastusta, kauhua ja epätoivoa, sanalla sanoen kaikkia tunteita ja intohimoja mitä moninaisimpine vivahteineen. Tämä pikku sana on miau. Mitä on ihmisen kieli verrattuna tähän kaikkein yksinkertaisimpaan ajatuksen ilmaisukeinoon!

Mind in language are inseparable. If we violate our language we violate ourselves.

Mind thinks in images but, to communicate with another, must transform image into thought and then thought into language. That march, from image to thought to language, is treacherous. Casualties occur: the rich, fleecy texture of image, its extraordinary plasticity and flexibility, its private nostalgic emotional hues - all are lost when image in crammed into language.

Mind thinks in images but, to communicate with another, must transform image into thought and then thought into language. That march, from image to thought to language, is treacherous. Casualties occur: the rich, fleecy texture of image, its extraordinary plasticity and flexibility, its private nostalgic emotional hues - all are lost when image is crammed into language.

[...] mi sembra che il linguaggio venga sempre usato in modo approssimativo, casuale, sbadato, e ne provo un fastidio intollerabile.

Mocho was a Spanish word that meant maimed or referred to something that had been lopped off like a stump. To call Homer el mocho was, essentially, to call him "Stumpy" or "the maimed one." It doesn't sound particularly flattering, but among Spanish speakers the giving of nicknames is tantamount to a declaration of love. Things that would sound insulting outright in English were tokens of deep affection when said in Spanish.

Modern nationalism swept Europe alongside the flourishing of industrialisation. Across the continent, poets and intellectuals cultivated and often heavily modified vernacular languages to be bearers of 19th century modernity. These guardians of language faced significant challenges in adapting the spoken tongues of the peasantry to the demands of high literature and natural science. The story for the arts is widely known: modern Hungarian, Czech, Italian, Hebrew, Polish and other literatures blossomed in the second half of the century. However, the high valuation for efficiency in the sciences somewhat tamed this incipient Babel ["Absolute English," Aeon, February 4, 2015].

Moracete da se pomirite sa gubitkom jednog dela svog samopostovanja i svoje brige o ponosu ukoliko stvarno zelite da napredujete.

Most adults have a vocabulary of around 60,000 words, meaning that children must learn 10 to 20 words a day between the ages of eight months and 18 years. And yet the most frequent 100 words account for 60% of all conversations. The most common 4000 words account for 98% of conversation.

More than anything, more than anything she had with him, she missed the language they had invented, the likes of which she had never had nor would again. The thoughts and ideas he had birthed in her, his golden touch, and the words that erupted from her and became sparks of light to him.

Most errors consist only in our not rightly applying names to things. For when someone says that the lines which are drawn from the center of a circle to its circumference are unequal, he surely understands (then at least) by a circle something different from what mathematicians understand. Similarly, when men err in calculating they have certain numbers in their mind and different ones on the paper. So if you consider what they have in mind, they really do not err, though they seem to err because we think they have in their mind the numbers which are on the paper. If this were not so, we would not believe that they were erring, just as I did not believe that he was erring whom I recently heard cry out that his courtyard had flown into his neighbor's hen, because what he had in mind seemed sufficiently clear to me. And most controversies have arisen from this, that men do not rightly explain their own mind, or interpret the mind of the other man badly. For really, when they contradict one another most vehemently, they either have the same thoughts, or they are thinking of different things, so that what they think are errors and absurdities in the other are not.

Most of the machinery of modern language is labour-saving machinery; and it saves mental labour very much more than it ought. Scientific phrases are used like scientific wheels and piston-rods to make swifter and smoother yet the path of the comfortable. Long words go rattling by us like long railway trains. We know they are carrying thousands who are too tired or too indolent to walk and think for themselves. It is a good exercise to try for once in a way to express any opinion one holds in words of one syllable. If you say “The social utility of the indeterminate sentence is recognized by all criminologists as a part of our sociological evolution towards a more humane and scientific view of punishment,” you can go on talking like that for hours with hardly a movement of the gray matter inside your skull. But if you begin “I wish Jones to go to gaol and Brown to say when Jones shall come out,” you will discover, with a thrill of horror, that you are obliged to think. The long words are not the hard words, it is the short words that are hard. There is much more metaphysical subtlety in the word “damn” than in the word “degeneration.

Most often when I stammer That's my brain Correcting my grammer.

Most social media users sometimes like statements they do not understand.

Mother nature gave us words to use them as a bridge among each other and advance together, but the humans with their ridiculous stupidity and shallow intellect have used those very words to create walls, blinded by their barbarian tribalism masquerading as pompous ideologies.

Mr. Treadstone believed that there was always an apposite word. The English language, after all, was the richest in the world. If you couldn’t find the apposite word, if you found your language slipping into the mire of vagueness and obscurity, this meant that you needed to work on your vocabulary. Because the apposite word certainly existed – and it was very eager to make your acquaintance.

Mr Hawkins said nothing; the Hawkins' domestic affairs were arranged upon the principle that Fanny supplied the talk and he the silence.

Mrs. Bittarcy rustled ominously, holding her peace meanwhile. She feared long words she did not understand. Beelzebub lay hid among too many syllables. ("The Man Whom The Trees Loved")

MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth. A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your Highness' hands. The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now. What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

Musicians do not have to be believed in. We do not have to be trusted. Our Music speaks for itself without the listener having to know anything about us. Music touches people's emotions in a way that nothing else can. When people find a musician they like, they are usually fans for Life. If they like the musician and his Music, they will open up their hearts to whatever that musician has to say. It matters not what country the musician or the fan comes from. Music is a language that all understand. It goes beyond and breaks down barriers. This makes the musician very powerful, and with power comes responsibility.

Music is a language - and language, at its finest, should be music.

Music is the sweetest language for hearts, kindest prayer for souls, peaceful breeze for minds, and a magical sail for imaginations.

Music transcends the boundaries of language.

Music is the language of the universe, which everyone, including all animals, can understand.

Music is the great unifier. It doesn’t matter which country you’re in or what language is being spoken, the fans just magically seem to get it. They share a common goal of love and celebration for the purity of magnificence and brilliance that has been created by the artist. It’s transcendent. It’s inspiration. It’s raw emotion. It’s communication – a perfect marriage of notes, harmonies, lyrics and melodies. It’s the beauty within the beast.

Mūsų laisvė pačiais ją įtvirtinančiais veiksmais sukuria tolydžio stiprėjančius įpročius, kurie ją pasmaugia, jeigu jos neatnaujina nuolatinės pastangos: jos tyko automatizmas. Pati gyviausia mintis sustabarėja ją išreiškiančioje formuluotėje. Žodis atsigręžia prieš idėją. Raidė nužudo dvasią. Ir netgi liepsningiausias mūsų entuziazmas, pasireiškiantis išoriniu veiksmu, kartais taip natūraliai pavirsta šaltu savanaudišku išskaičiavimu arba išpuikimu, vienas taip lengvai įgija kito formą, jog mes galėtume juos supainioti vieną su kitu, galėtume abejoti savo pačių nuoširdumu, neigti gerumą ir meilę, jei nežinotume, kad miręs dar kurį laiką išsaugo gyvojo bruožus.

My books are a word feast.

My dear friend, clear your mind of cant [excessive thought]. You may talk as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most humble servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may say, "These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You don't mind the times ... You may talk in this manner; it is a mode of talking in Society; but don't think foolishly.

[M]y favorite teacher was explaining that you don't say but however. These are pleonasms: the use of more words than necessary to express an idea. There are times in life that are very but however.

My parents would not permit ugly language in the house, which was okay with me. I didn't want to learn German anyway.

My house is full of books. I suppose that I have read all of them, bar reference books and poetry collections in which I will not have read every poem. I have forgotten many, indeed most. At some point, I have emptied each of these into that insatiable vessel, the mind, and they are now lost somewhere within. If I reopen a book, there is recognition--oh yes, I've been here--but to have the contents again, familiar, new-minted, I would have to read right through. What happens to all this information, this inferno of language? Where does it go? Much, apparently, becomes irretrievable sediment; a fair amount, the significant amount, becomes that essential part of us--what we know and understand and think about above and beyond our own immediate concerns. It has become the life of the mind. What we have read makes us what we are--quite as much as what we have experienced and where we have been and who we have known. To read is to experience. I can measure out my life in books. They stand along the way like signposts: the moments of absorption and empathy and direction and enlightenment and sheer pleasure.

My love translated sounds like a dead language.

My people? Who are they? I went into the church where the congregation Worshiped my God. Were they my people? I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there. My people! Where are they? I went into the land where I was born, Where men spoke my language. I was a stranger there. “My people,” my soul cried. “Who are my people?” Last night in the rain I met an old man Who spoke a language I do not speak, Which marked him as one who does not know my God. With apologetic smile he offered me The shelter of his patched umbrella. I met his eyes...And then I knew...

Mystical experience needs some form of dogma in order not to dissipate into moments of spiritual intensity that are merely personal, and dogma needs regular infusions of unknowingness to keep from calcifying into the predictable, pontificating, and anti-intellectual services so common in mainstream American churches. So what does all this mean practically? It means that congregations must be conscious of the persistent and ineradicable loneliness that makes a person seek communion, with other people and with God, in the first place. It means that conservative churches that are infused with the bouncy brand of American optimism one finds in sales pitches are selling shit. It means that liberal churches that go months without mentioning the name of Jesus, much less the dying Christ, have no more spiritual purpose or significance than a local union hall. It means that we -- those of us who call ourselves Christians -- need a revolution in the way we worship. This could mean many different things -- poetry as liturgy, focused and extended silences, learning from other religious traditions and rituals (this seems crucial), incorporating apophatic language. But one thing it means for sure: we must be conscious of language as language, must call into question every word we use until we refine or remake a language that is fit for our particular religious doubts and despairs -- and of course (and most of all!) our joys.

My tongue was handed down to me by datus and katipuneros. The truth is my mouth is a battlefield that you wouldn’t know how to fight in.

My Japanese isn’t much better today, but at least now I appreciate my duality more than when I was a punk kid.

My mother's journals are a shadow play with mine. I am a woman wedded to words. Words cast a shadow. Without a shadow there is no depth. Without a shadow there is no substance. If we have no shadow, it means we are invisible. As long as I have a shadow, I am alive.

My parents' marriage, to my unforgiving nineteen-year-old eye, was a car crash of cliché. Though I would have to admit, as the one making the judgement, that a 'car crash of of cliché' is itself a cliché.

My name is Nathan, just twenty-three and given to the curation of stories. I listen, retain, then polish and release them over the fire at night, when the others hush and lean forward in their desire to hear of the past. They crave romance, particularly when autumn sets in and cold nights await them, and so I speak of Alice, and Bethany, and Sarah, and Val, and other dead women who all once had lustrous hair and never a bad word on their plump lips. I can remember this is not how they were; I knew them, I knew them! Only six years have passed and yet I mythologize them as if it is six thousand. I am not culpable. Language is changing, like the earth, like the sea. We live in lonely, fateful flux, outnumbered and outgrown.

Nasıl ki bazı yaratıklar, tabiatın üretmekten vazgeçtiği bir canlı türünün son örnekleriyse, acaba –dil, kelimeler, düşüncelerin çözümlenmesi icat edilmemiş olsa–ruhlar arasında mevcut olabilecek iletişimin yegâne örneği de müzik mi diye düşünüyordum. Müzik, devamı gelmemiş bir olasılık gibidir; insanlık başka yollara, konuşma ve yazı diline sapmıştır.

. Nature's so terribly good. Don't you think so, Mr. Stanhope?" Stanhope was standing by, silent, while Mrs. Parry communed with her soul and with one or two of her neighbours on the possibilities of dressing the Chorus. He turned his head and answered, "That Nature is terribly good? Yes, Miss Fox. You do mean 'terribly'?" "Why, certainly," Miss Fox said. "Terribly--dreadfully--very." "Yes," Stanhope said again. "Very. Only--you must forgive me; it comes from doing so much writing, but when I say 'terribly' I think I mean 'full of terror'. A dreadful goodness." "I don't see how goodness can be dreadful," Miss Fox said, with a shade of resentment in her voice. "If things are good they're not terrifying, are they?" "It was you who said 'terribly'," Stanhope reminded her with a smile, "I only agreed." "And if things are terrifying," Pauline put in, her eyes half closed and her head turned away as if she asked a casual question rather of the world than of him, "can they be good?" He looked down on her. "Yes, surely," he said, with more energy. "Are our tremors to measure the Omnipotence?

Nature itself a language with strong Vocabulary, each day it teaches us new Words.

Nick demonstrated twenty-three ways of communicating without words by fanning himself with a napkin. "This one means oops, your fly is open, sir, and if you lower the fan a little and look at someone over the top of it, it means wow, I'd like to marry you. But if you do it the other way around, it means ha ha, we are now at war with Spain.

Never discount another man's faith just because it is dressed in another language foreign to your own. Language can be used as a serious weapon in shining and sharing Truth, but can also be used to hide or distort it. For example, do not shun Hinduism because you do not understand it by its exterior, without first opening the Gita and patiently examining its interior. Honorable virtues prized by God are found in the majority of the world's religions. Never listen to another man's opinion of any faith without first truly examining it yourself from every angle, and questioning any possible motives behind those giving their opinion. A kind man would never put down another man's mother just for not liking her dress. So what makes you feel justified in tearing down another man's faith simply because he prefers referring to God using a different title? Or prefers worshiping him in a different mansion? Or prefers taking a different path to reach the same destination? Or for electing to wear a traditional uniform to perform his services or reflect his faith? Never reflect hatred in your speech, or act in superiority over another man, because it only shows to others that it is YOU who really does not understand God and his message. Any man who promotes hatred or violence towards another man is NOT Sikh, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jewish or any other God-loving faith on earth. God is LOVE and LIGHT, not hatred and ignorance. Any unbiased religious scholar will tell you that LOVE is God's message in all of the world's religions -- except Satanism.

Never invite someone who is speaking a foreign language in your presence to "Go back to your country." The only time that phrase is every acceptable is if you are British and you are speaking to Madonna.

No critic and advocate of immutability has ever once managed properly or even marginally to outwit the English language's capacity for foxy and relentlessly slippery flexibility. For English is a language that simply cannot be fixed, not can its use ever be absolutely laid down. It changes constantly; it grows with an almost exponential joy. It evolves eternally; its words alter their senses and their meanings subtly, slowly, or speedily according to fashion and need.

No human utterance could be seen as innocent. Any set of words could be analysed to reveal not just an individual but a historical consciousness at work.

No institution of learning of Ingersoll's day had courage enough to confer upon him an honorary degree; not only for his own intellectual accomplishments, but also for his influence upon the minds of the learned men and women of his time and generation. Robert G. Ingersoll never received a prize for literature. The same prejudice and bigotry which prevented his getting an honorary college degree, militated against his being recognized as 'the greatest writer of the English language on the face of the earth,' as Henry Ward Beecher characterized him. Aye, in all the history of literature, Robert G. Ingersoll has never been excelled -- except by only one man, and that man was -- William Shakespeare. And yet there are times when Ingersoll even surpassed the immortal Bard. Yes, there are times when Ingersoll excelled even Shakespeare, in expressing human emotions, and in the use of language to express a thought, or to paint a picture. I say this fully conscious of my own admiration for that 'intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores of thought.' Ingersoll was perfection himself. Every word was properly used. Every sentence was perfectly formed. Every noun, every verb and every object was in its proper place. Every punctuation mark, every comma, every semicolon, and every period was expertly placed to separate and balance each sentence. To read Ingersoll, it seems that every idea came properly clothed from his brain. Something rare indeed in the history of man's use of language in the expression of his thoughts. Every thought came from his brain with all the beauty and perfection of the full blown rose, with the velvety petals delicately touching each other. Thoughts of diamonds and pearls, rubies and sapphires rolled off his tongue as if from an inexhaustible mine of precious stones. Just as the cut of the diamond reveals the splendor of its brilliance, so the words and construction of the sentences gave a charm and beauty and eloquence to Ingersoll's thoughts. Ingersoll had everything: The song of the skylark; the tenderness of the dove; the hiss of the snake; the bite of the tiger; the strength of the lion; and perhaps more significant was the fact that he used each of these qualities and attributes, in their proper place, and at their proper time. He knew when to embrace with the tenderness of affection, and to resist and denounce wickedness and tyranny with that power of denunciation which he, and he alone, knew how to express.

Nommer c'est montrer et [...] montrer c'est changer.

No matter where we come from, there is one language we can all speak and understand from birth, the language of the heart, love.