She had certain thoughts which were like companions, ideas which were like older and wiser friends.

Making a story from the messy thoughts and half-thoughts in her head, building a world and lives and taking them apart again, fitting the pieces together another way until it feels right, as right as she can make it feel.

The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.

perhaps it took a stranger to make a woman like her speak her mind.

When she came to write her story, she would wonder when the books and the words started to mean not just something, but everything.

Her words, her jumbled, mad thoughts tamed or simply broken, made language, and she took another drag off the Lucky, exhaled, and read the last sentence aloud.

But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have been dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

Such were her thoughts, though she lacked the words to express them.

She tried to think of what to say to make it all better again, or at least the way it was before she'd made her confession, though she didn't regret having confessed. Perhaps that was what had been wrong with her all along. Now that the lie wasn't between them anymore, maybe she could love him again.

Words are clothes that thoughts wear

I gotta use words to talk to you.

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

If old truths are to retain their hold on men’s minds, they must be restated in the language and concepts of successive generations. What at one time are their most effective expressions gradually become so worn with use that they cease to carry a definite meaning. The underlying ideas may be as valid as ever, but the words, even when they refer to problems that are still with us, no longer convey the same conviction; the arguments do not move in a context familiar to us; and they rarely give us direct answers to the questions we are asking This may be inevitable because no statement of an ideal that is likely to sway men’s minds can be complete: it must be adapted to a given climate of opinion, presuppose much that is accepted by all men of the time, and illustrate general principles in terms of issues with which they are concerned.