Quotes About Muse

You can think of a painter as a trio - the artist, his talent and his muse, the last two always on the lookout for a new brush man.

Let the high Muse chant loves Olympian: We are but mortals, and must sing of men.

And muse on nature with a poet's eye.

You can wait forever for the muse to sit on your shoulder, but most of the time you know what has to be done.

Just remember: there is no Muse, and if there is a Muse, you own it – it doesn't own you.)

S]he was my Muse, my alcoholic's bourbon on the rocks: irresistible.

I was the first to bring the Muse into my country.

I too am a poet who has found some favour with the Muse. I too have written songs. I too have heard the shepherds call me bard. But I take it from them with a grain of salt: I have the feeling that I cannot yet compare with Varius or Cinna, but cackle like a goose among melodious swans.

Oh Mnemosyne, sweetest and most mischievous of muses

The muse of invention handed me a rifle and I shot a white bear who sat down and said: Ah.

You're the world's muse, Trixie." "I just want to be your muse." "Done.

In the presence of my muse, I no longer NEEDED to draw.

Now the birds & trees & the moroccan kitties are my muse.

When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder that such trivial people should muse and thunder in such lovely language.

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend / The brightest heaven of invention." For Steve Jobs, the ascent to the brightest heaven

the seat of the Celtic Muse is in the mist of the secret and solitary hill, and her voice in the murmur of the mountain stream.

The Muse's friend, Tea, does our fancy aid; Repress those vapors which the head invade; And keeps that palace of the soul serene....

Muse, bid the morne awake; Sad winter now declines: Each bird doth choose a mate, This day's Saint Valentines...

Not while the fever of the blood is strong, The heart throbs loud, the eyes are veiled, no less With passion than with tears, the Muse shall bless The poet-soul to help and soothe with song. Not then she bids his trembling lips express The aching gladness, the voluptuous pain. Life is his poem then; flesh, sense, and brain One full-stringed lyre attuned to happiness.

If there is a single person at the nexus of fantasy literature, it is Terri Windling -- as editor, as writer, as painter, as muse.

I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side.

I'm not in control of my muse. My muse does all the work.

You take stuff from different places, and sometimes you stick a line in because it rhymes, not because it makes sense.

Muse. Mu-se. It's a great thing, for someone to feel that they can draw inspiration from you. And I don't think it's necessarily a man 'taking' from a woman. It can go both ways, both can stimulate, excite.