Quotes About Inspiration

God was singing through this little man to all the world.

Glück macht keine guten Geschichten. Glück lässt sich nicht beschreiben. Es ist wie Nebel, wie Rauch, durchsichtig und flüchtig. Hast du jemals einen Maler gesehen, der Rauch malen konnte?

Beautiful landscapes are no use for good paintings.

Instead of chasing the idea of truth, what we should be doing is embracing the medium of drawing and using it for a purpose that fulfils our needs as an artist or designer.

I stay way from that area, and there's only so many songs you can write about love, sex and death.

Facing a wall when you write really aids your concentration.

I quote Frank O'Connor to my students: that when you are writing a story, at some point the story must take over. You are not going to be able to control it. I think this is true. O'Connor said he thought Joyce controls his stories too tightly—"Whoever heard of a Joyce story taking over?" he asked—and that there is a deadness about them. You have got to keep the story opened up, let the story take over at some point.

I travel the garden of music, thru inspiration. It's a large, very large garden, seen?

In the beginning there was the word. The word was Jah. The word is in I, Jah is in I. I make what is good, better, and what is better, best. I follow this in every aspect of life.

If Botticelli were alive today he'd be working for Vogue.

Alle, die professionell schreiben, wissen, dass sich ein Gedanke oft erst in der Arbeit an der genauen Formulierung klärt. Sie wissen, dass wir vieles nur schreibend wirklich zu Ende denken können. So wie auch unsere besten Gedanken nicht selten aus dem konzentrierten Prozess des Schreibens heraus entstehen und plötzlich da sind, zu unserer eigenen Überraschung.

Zum Wesen der Wissenschaften wie der Künste gehört, dass sie ihrem Bedürfnis voraus sind; zum Wesen des Markets gehört, dass er auf die gegenwärtigen Bedürfnisse antwortet. Wissenschaften und Künste brauchen die Freiheit, das zu suchen und zu erschaffen, was niemand erwartet, niemand verlangt, das, wofür es keinen Markt gibt.

Much later, (S.A.Ayer) credited (Subhas Chandra) Bose with combining in his person "the qualities of Akbar, Shivaji and Vivekananda," which is a little like saying that Charles de Gaulle was Joan of Arc, Louis XIV and Victor Hugo all rolled into one.

Es posible que la existencia carezca de sentido. Y sin embargo, la pasión de vivir es más fuerte que la explicación de la vida.»

Poterunt discussis forte tenebris Ad puram priscumque iubar remeare nepotes Tunc Elicona noua reuitentem stripe iudebis Tunc lauros frondere sacras; tunc alta resurgent Ingenia atque animi dociles, quibus ardour honesti Pyeridum studii ueterem geminabit amorem.

You'll just have to imagine

You never finish a book. You only abandon it.

IF I CAN BUT MAKE THE WORDS AWAKE THE FEELING. —Ian Anderson, Stand Up

Visual reality is the starting point, but beneath this the true intention is the poetic vision. These twin poles – the encounter with reality and the imaginative transformation of reality – are the two opposing poles around which all artistic endeavour has been concentrated for thousands of years.

En el movimiento estudiantil chileno entre 2011 y 2013, el espíritu de la revolución chilena de los tiempos de Allende parece una herencia viva, y es tal vez una inspiración para el levantamiento de una revolución democrática que busque una nueva vía chilena, un socialismo para el siglo xxi.

My mom came from such humble beginnings and especially my dad as well. He didn't go to university.

And, to tell finally my greatest service, I've kept him from a thousand vicious acts, for low and vile things could never serve to give him satisfaction (a young many shy and modest in his acts and thoughts) once he'd become her slave and vassal; she made so deep a mark upon his heart, that he must emulate her... "Again, and this is what I'll finish with, I gave him wings to fly beyond the skies by means of mortal things, which make a ladder to our Maker, rightly used...

Oh blessèd be the day, the month, the year, the season and the time, the hour, the instant, the gracious countryside, the place where I was struck by those two lovely eyes that bound me.

Your Homer is here with me; mute or rather in fact deaf am I, in front of him. But I am happy to gaze upon him and often hug him and, sighing, say, 'Great man, how I would love to hear you!