Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I'm very interested in language because it reflects our obsessions and ways of conceptualising the world.
My language is a feel-thinking language, feeling and thinking at once, that is why it is a celebration of life, and at once it is a denunciation of everything that is not allowed in life to be real life, it's plenitude.
When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing; it's rejuvenating.
When you have those two languages - an analytic one like English and a synthetic, very sensual thing like Russian, you get almost a psychotic sense of humanity that permeates nearly everything. It can help you understand, and it can discourage you, because you see how little can be done.
I love language, and I love the failure of language.
I wish I was not such a very bad hand at languages. That is one thing I cannot do, that and ride.
Well, language seems to be something that obsesses me. I'm always writing about it.
It is quite an illusion to imagine that one adjusts to reality essentially without the use of language and that language is merely an incidental means of solving specific problems of communication or reflection.
Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.
Language is froth on the surface of thought.