Ink Quotes

“Over time, ink fades like a duck quack in the wind. I have a baseball signed by Babe Ruth, but his autograph has gone invisible. That’s why it’s now ON SALE for ONLY $19.95.”
― Jarod Kintz, Music is fluid, and my saxophone overflows when my ducks slosh in the sounds I make in elevators.

“Call me not to quiet
I shall break the chains
With my ink
Bleeding brave.”
― Atif Khurshid Wani, The Shattered She

“Committing it to ink makes it truer.”
― Megan Bannen, The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy

“All those feelings were set ablaze by your ink.”
― Laura Chouette

“Why would my words
ever borrow the ink
of their own demise?”
― Laura Chouette

“Tamsin gave a strangled cry, sweeping her arm across her cluttered tabletop, relishing the chaos and clatter of her belongings tumbling to the stone floor. A crystal splintered. Her mug shattered, scattering chunks of hardened clay across the room. Loose papers floated into the fire, the flames devouring the dark ink until the words no longer existed.”
― Adrienne Tooley, Sweet & Bitter Magic

“Tattoos are a uniform you wear all the time. They let the world know you are different, just like everyone else who has more ink than a Tolstoy novel.”
― Jarod Kintz, I design saxophone music in blocks, like Stonehenge

“Ink down,
Before you lean,
For, seconds shall mount you high;
To the heights of revolution
And, minutes will surround you,
With diamonds of the reforms
Hours will erode away, that
Chronic menace of the ignorance”
― Zakir Malik, The Wail Of The Woods

“The ink spills thickest before it runs dry before it stops writing at all.”
― Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Dictee

“Danglars gehörte zu jenen Menschen, die mit einer Feder hinter dem Ohr und mit einem Tintenfass an Stelle des Herzens geboren werden.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count Of Monte Cristo / Le Comte De Monte Cristo: English French Parallel Text Edition

“The "friend" who consistently points out the flaws in your plan, or uses a magnifying glass to find the defect in your product, or constantly searches for the chink in your armor, is the "friend" praying for your downfall. Watch and listen for the signs. Know your circle.
Real ones are cheering from the sidelines, not wishing it was them in the game.”
― Liz Faublas-Wallace

“I think of the note I found, of the press of his nibbed pen hard enough to send flecks of ink spattering as he wrote my name. Hard enough to dig through the page, maybe to scar the desk beneath.

If that's what he did to the paper, I shudder to think what he wants to do to me.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“Even at that time, my only friends were made of paper and ink. At school I had learned to read and write long before the other children. Where my school friends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible pages, I saw light, streets , and people. Words and the mystery of their hidden science fascinated me and I saw in them a key with which I could unlock a boundless world, a safe haven from that home, those streets and those troubled days in which even I could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me. My father didn’t like to see books in the house. There was something about them – apart from the letters he could not decipher – that offended him. He used to tell me as soon as I was ten he would send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of all my scatterbrained ideas because otherwise I’d end up being a loser, a nobody.”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón

“I'm less discreet in black ink.”
― Jasmine Farrell, Long Live Phoenixes

“I START WRITING FROM WHERE MY WALK ENDS.

जहाँ मेरी सीमा ख़त्म होती मैं वहीं से क़लम उठाता हूँ”
― Vineet Raj Kapoor

“WHOSE WORDS HAVE MORE INK, ONLY TIME SHALL TELL

किसके शब्दों में कितनी सियाही है ये तो वक़्त ही बताएगा

KISKE SHABDON MEIN KITNI SIYAHI HAI, YEH TOH WAQT HI BATAYEGA”
― Vineet Raj Kapoor

“All my feelings were set ablaze by your ink.”
― Laura Chouette

“Love paints the heart so delicate;
so why would my words
ever borrow the ink
of their own demise?”
― Laura Chouette

“The greatest teachers imbue fragments of their souls into their teachings.”
― Monaristw

“Fountain pens let you write with flair.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“And young Saoirse didn’t tattoo her face just for the aesthetics. There’s power in ink, coldblood. And not just the silvered kind.”
― Jay Kristoff, Empire of the Vampire

“I dip the brush in ink. Making ink---grinding powders, mixing colors (golds, silver, azurite), and adding glue---can take hours. Someday, I might be able to do this. But it's a master's skill, and I am a novice. It is the way of kata, the practice of doing something over and over again until it is second nature. Calligraphy is part of the imperial identity. Therefore, it is part of mine now.”
― Emiko Jean, Tokyo Ever After

“Ink is the colour of invisibility.”
― Syed Buali Gillani

“INK

Everything we know
The things that haunt us
in our sleep
The scars,
The joy,
The sweat,
The tears
Is just a bit of ink.”
― Trisha North, INK

“words in my own reality,
my own mind,
are trapped there,
screaming to escape
as lines and curves
as throbbing black blood
onto the crisp ivory paper,
sitting placidly,
below my trembling hand,
hair falls into my face,
coldness burns in my bones,
my thoughts choke me as
I sit in pure agony,
plummeting into the
intoxicatingly sweet hands
of madness”
― L.S.

“Words in my own reality,
My own mind,
Are trapped there
Screaming to escape,
As lines and curves,
As throbbing black blood,
As a dance of loops and coils,
Onto the crisp ivory paper,
Sitting placidly,
Anticipatory,
Beneath my trembling hand,
Hair falls into my face,
Coldness burns in my bones,
My thoughts choke me as
I sit in pure agony,
Plummeting into the
Intoxicatingly sweet hands of
Madness.”
― -L.S.

“I am at lessons in the palace grove, sitting in the long shadows of the late afternoon. The moon has already risen, a sharp crescent in the cloudless blue sky. I draw a star chart from memory, my ink a dark red that clots on the paper. It's blood, I realise. I am dabbing my quill into an inkpot full of blood.”
― Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

“My pen lies idle, its ink long since dried up, leaving me with nothing but blank pages and a hollow sense of emptiness.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

“...listening for the bodily hum that ran like syrup through her veins whenever she was near a book... but the ink stayed black and silent.”
― Emma Törzs, Ink Blood Sister Scribe

“Words in my own reality,
My own mind,
Are trapped there
Screaming to escape,
As lines and curves,
As throbbing black blood,
As a dance of loops and coils,
Onto the crisp ivory paper,
Sitting placidly,
Anticipatory,
Beneath my trembling hand,
Hair falls into my face,
Coldness burns in my bones,
My thoughts choke me as
I sit in pure agony,
Plummeting into the
Intoxicatingly sweet hands of
Madness.”
― L.S.