Quotes About Inspiration

I cannot explain how it begins, or why it happens, what strange alchemy puts such things in motion.

It wasn't just her words, it was her way of putting them together, the voice that seemed to gain power with each one, so that my head had been filled with images so magically vibrant it was as if I had seen them with my own eyes. She changed the world into something fine. She made one believe.

The two of you made something so beautiful it changed the way I saw it. I'll never think of those places the same way again.

music told me that whatever else had been taken from me, my soul remained.

It was my favorite characteristic of musicians. They were competitive and jealous, but unlike poets or writers or painters, musicians borrowed and built upon old foundations and acknowledged the genius of before. They used it. One discovered, and others embraced, embroidered, and embellished, twisting and shaping it into something that was quite their own, even as it held echoes of the past.

Some people lusted after cars, which had never made sense to me. For me, bookshelves could inspire whole spontaneous sonnets, so maybe it was an each to her own scenario.

Does madness bring creativity? Or does creativity cause madness? Can an artist create without the ups so high and the downs so low?

All the best art comes from the broken places,

Much is said about brilliance. Less attention is paid to those who live next to it. Spouses, children, assistants…if anyone thinks of us at all, it's generally to remark upon how lucky we are to bask in the light of genius.

For anyone who's ever thought of giving up the dream . . . don't. Keep dreaming.

To those who've touched my life and made me who I am today, I say this: A different person could have told this story, but only the woman I am because of knowing you could have written this book.

This is for you You know who you are

Could she have known that it was her own image that, Waldo wrote, "rose before me at times into heroical & godlike regions, and I could remember no superior women"? Indeed, to Waldo, who had once unkindly disrupted her Conversations on classical myth, Margaret was best compared to "Ceres, Minerva, Proserpine, and the august ideal forms of the Foreworld." He had not told her this, but perhaps somehow she knew.

Margaret expected her friends to "be capable of seeking something." She cared little what that something was, only that her friends "should not be satisfied with the common routine of life,—that they should aspire to something higher, better, holier, than they had now attained.

she experienced through music "the highest moments of a contemplative kind," when "I seemed to see the relations of things . . . and my soul was rapt to enthusiasm to live & be what I ought.

I've been told my whole life that I've got all the power. But it's only now that I'm beginning to believe it. My days of selling junk food and perfume are over. If the world is going to listen to me, I better start saying things that are worth hearing.

So where should we go at it?' asked Bastian. 'Anywhere you want me,' I murmured, dreamily. 'Pardon?' 'Anywhere,' I said. 'Why don't we start in a familiar place, so we are not nervous our first time?' I have to remind myself that this is real, and not part of the daydream. He's talking about the Storytelling Project. Not sex.

Would That All Yahweh's People Were Prophets!"(Numbers 11:29)

When I watch you on the ice...I don't think I have ever seen someone with that kind of talent you have. You can't teach that. The truth is, you're better than any of us. That feeling of proving yourself all the time? Use it. Let it drive you. Accept everything outside your control and go harder. Don't think about tomorrow, just think about right now.

Meghan's a columnist at the L.A. Times," the friend said. "I'm sure you've read her.

In autumn, don't go to jewelers to see gold; go to the parks!

A beautiful idea is a beautiful door; it invites you to enter inside!

A beautiful poem is like a beautiful sky and a beautiful sky is like a beautiful poem!

A bench in the street can be a good writer because all kind of material comes onto it like a heavy rain!