Quotes About Inspiration

When you look upon the beauty of nature. You discover, Heaven is under your feet.

Stop telling yourself the 'same crap, different day. Recognize that throughout this beautiful day, you have an incredible amount of opportunities to move your life into the direction you want it to go.

I'll always hold close to my heart." "The love that makes your eyes, beautiful and bright. For it is what makes me who I am.

David McKay, 1900. Wolfe, Thomas. Look Homeward, Angel. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1929. Yeats, William Butler. A Vision

Sometimes I wish I were a character in a book and there was a writer out there giving me things to say.

All of us must have something or someone to be proud of.

Old soldiers never die, they write novels.

ever seen The Warden make toward him, or toward anybody else. It warmed all through him like a drink. It was worth three months in any Black Hole

The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.

The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.

To discover the mode of life or of art whereby my spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.

Read your own obituary notice; they say you live longer. Gives you second wind. New lease of life.

Write it, damn you, write it! What else are you good for?

A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.

He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter.

I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom.

The mystery of esthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the god of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal.

He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself: A day of dappled seaborne clouds.

ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea

But Noodynaady's actual ingrate tootle is of come into the garner mauve and thy nice are stores of morning and buy me a bunch of iodines.

White roses and red roses: those were beautiful colours to think of. And the cards for first place and second place and third place were beautiful colours too: pink and cream and lavender. Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps a wild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song about the wild rose blossoms on the little green place. But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.

like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars.

Quotations every day of the year.