Words are also seeds, and when dropped into the invisible spiritual substance, they grow and bring forth after their kind
By words the mind is winged.
Deeds are fruits, words are leaves
Many a true word is spoken in jest
A cutting word is worse than a bowstring; a cut may heal, but the cut of the tongue does not
Words without actions are the assassins of idealism.
A word and a stone let go cannot be recalled
Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, Sweetness to the soul and health to the bones
A gentle word opens an iron gate
I must tell you that the supply of words on the world market is plentiful, but the demand is falling.
A word too much always defeats its purpose
At every word a reputation dies.
Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words
A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever
Words are the only things that last forever
Words are tools which automatically carve concepts out of experience
A knife wound heals; a wound caused by words does not
Words are the dress of thoughts; which should no more be presented in rags, tatters, and dirt than your person should
All words are pegs to hang ideas on.
When deeds speak, words are nothing.
Words are like leaves, and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found
Words spoken, you are a slave to; those not said, you are the master of.
But words once spoke can never be recalled
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