Quotes About Inspiration

In my youth, it was my good luck to have a few good teachers, men and women, who came into my head and lit a match.

The blackness would stir and eventually go away, and God would remain, a shining point of light in my heart. I would go on loving.

High calls low and low calls high. I tell you, if you were in such dire straits as I was, you too would elevate your thoughts. The lower you are, the higher your mind will want to soar.

I have a story that will make you believe in God.

I think art comes from some sense of discomfort with the world, some sense of not quite fitting with it.

Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story.

A germ of religious exaltation, no bigger than a mustard seed.

There's nothing like the unimaginable to make people believe.

It was a placid explosion of orange and red, a great chromatic symphony, a colour canvas of supernatural proportions, truly a splendid Pacific sunset, quite wasted on me.

I thought I would run out of paper. It was the pens that ran out.

If you stumble at mere believability, what are you living for?

If you don't have dreams, how do you maneuver reality? Where do you get the ideas to change reality if not from dreams?

Art is rooted in joy.

A great literary work can be completely, completely unpredictable. Which can sometimes make them very hard to read, but it gives them a great originality.

shelf, stand mountains of neatly stacked cans and packages. A reserve of food to last the siege of Leningrad. CHAPTER 7 It was my luck to have a few good teachers in my youth, men and women who came into my dark head and lit a match.

The holy word is story, and story is the holy word.

It is true that those we meet can change us

That is Christianity at heart: a single miracle surrounded and sustained by stories, like an island surrounded by the sea.

Any writer will be happy and good only if they know what they're doing and why they're doing it.

High calls low and low calls high. I tell you, if you were in such dire straits as I was, you too would elevate your thoughts. The lower you are, the higher your mind will want to soar. It was natural that, bereft and desperate as I was, in the throes of unremitting suffering, I should turn to God.

This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god—and in a hot place, at that—with a stride like any human stride, the sandal reaching just above the rocks along the way; and when He splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey. This Son is a god who died in three hours, with moans, gasps and laments. What kind of a god is that? What is there to inspire in this Son? Love, said Father Martin.

Then the elderly man said, "I have a story that will make you believe in God.

First wonder goes deepest; wonder after that fits in the impression made by the first. I

Remember, passion and purpose go handinhand.