ink

Don't shrink your standards, link yourself with those who think and ink like you.

...I deliberately spilled the black ink of despair because my perfect soul was a stained glass illusion - can you understand that?...

The ink in your pen never reshapes your thoughts, you must replace the ink before the ink can be inked properly.

Memory is more indelible than ink.

Had I just made a date with a tatted up bat wielding miscreant?

The ink in the pen that writes success stories is "FOCUS"...

Oil may run out, liquidity may dry up, but as long as ink flows freely, the next chapter of Life will continue to be written.

I guess it's better to have a chalk smile, than an ink smile. Where chalk changes with the direction of wind, ink stays as a deep stain. Like rain, sun and hail against a fake plant.

Love is wind for the soul

My heart's scripture tastes foreign in the mouths of cowards and on the tongues of those who have never breathed inthe moon and breathed out the world.

Let thy words be few. I agree, but only if my ink can relentlessly run.

This assignment could damn well project all the words across my face and the ink stain my hands a gory mess before I finished it.

the caress_of each word_becoming _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _one__ with the pagetwisting__ _ _ _ _beneath the touch of the pen_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _forming_a trail of permanent kisses_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ until they reach_me

Technically, you cannot really own a book you bought; you can only own the sheets of paper your copy is printed on; unless, of course, you are the book__ publisher.

Getting ink felt right, like it would help her put her life in order, to move forwards. It was her body, despite the things that'd been done to it, and she wanted to claim it, to own it, to prove that to herself. She knew it wasn't magic, but the idea of writing her own identity felt like the closest she could get to reclaiming her life. Sometimes there's power in the act; sometimes there's strength in words. She wanted to find an image that represented those things she was feeling, to etch it on her skin as tangible proof of her decision to change.

This is not one of your fictions where people bleed ink.

The Scribe"Under the wingsOf the feathered Goddess,And in the middleOf the three dancing women,The scribe comes aliveTo reveal mysteries hiddenThrough divine gifts givenThe scribe is drivenOn his sacred missionTo wake upAll the universe'sMen, women andHeavenly children.Under the seven rays of Aten,And from the age of just ten,The scribe comes aliveWith the fertile inkOf his luminous pen.Below the spectacle of the moon,And in the smile of the sun,The scribe is here to show usHow we are all one.

The pen is mightier than the sword as long as it doesn't run out of ink.