Quotes About Inspiration

How do your poems start out?" "They start as a lump in the throat," she said. "Isn't that normally just a cocktail olive lodged there?" Olivier asked. "Once," Ruth admitted. "Wrote quite a good poem before I coughed it up.

After all, it's how the light gets in.

Peter always had a 'best before' date stamped on his forehead," said Ruth. "People who live in their heads do. They start out well enough, but eventually they run out of ideas. And if there's no imagination, no inspiration to fall back on? Then what?

Their creations eventually die of neglect, of malnourishment. And sometimes, when that happens the artist also dies.

I need help.

In trying to capture the beautiful mystery, this monk had invented written music. Not yet notes, what he'd written became known as neumes.

Haven't you ever heard of an artist's muse?" the barman asked. "They all seem to either have one or want one. Me, all I want is peace and quiet.

No," said Armand. "The outside won't change, but the inside might. We can but hope." "We can do more than that, Chief Inspector, if we choose. Hope on its own is rarely enough.

Knowledge, ideas, thoughts. Imagination. All invisible. All lived in libraries.

If you want an idea to flourish, the best fertilizer is the body of a martyr. I don't want her ideas to flourish, but someone else might. Something to think about, Chief Inspector.

He looked at the canvas and saw bold swirls of reds and greens and yellows. And bright blues. All intermingled. They formed no image. And he got no feeling. He closed his eyes. Paused. When he opened them, he let the painting come to him. To enter through his heart, not his head. With Clara's painting, like all great works of creation, there was more than met the eye.

She taught me that life goes on, and that I had a choice. To lament what I no longer had or be grateful for what remained. I was fortunate to have a role model that I couldn't squirm my way around. After all, how do you argue with the survivor of a death camp?

carried on round pianos

I'm not sure if you realize that mathematics isn't linear. It's a curve. And in the brightest, most nimble minds, it arcs around to meet philosophy, music, art." She laced her fingers together. "They're intertwined. If you listen to Bach, it's as much a work of math as music.

Louise Penny

and his heart soared. He looked over the

Funny how I learned freedom from creatures that are rooted in place.

Having known many artists in his life, especially through Clara, he'd grown to realize they were often not the most stable, or house-trained, individuals.

The one inscribed Surprised by Joy and, above that, A Brave Man in a Brave Country.

Surprised by Joy Professor

the new notebooks. Always strangely thrilling. Unmarred. No mistakes yet. All they held was promise and potential.

her book. Ngaio Marsh. Myrna was re-reading the classics.

God, that means she's written more books than she's read,' said Ruth.

Muses work all day long," said Ruth. "And then at night get together and dance.