Quotes About Process

Si tal vez no necesitáramos de un personaje mítico y salvaje para representar nuestras vidas en proceso de desaparición.

Polishing those ugly rocks into gemstones. That's the earth. Why it does around. We're the rocks. And what happens to us - the drama and pain and joy and war and sickness and victory and abuse - why that's just the water and sand to erode us. Grind us down. To polish us up, nice and bright.

Writers are made -- forged, really, in a kiln of their own madness and insecurities -- over the course of many, many moons.

Your first draft can and should look like a fucking warzone. That's okay. Don't sweat it, because you survived. Put differently, that first draft of yours has permission to suck. Go forth and care not.

If you can't describe what you are doing as a process, then you don't know what you are doing.

Indomie noodles represent the process by which poverty, through innovation, can become prosperity.

Innovation, in a very real sense, exists in a "pre–quality revolution" state.1 Managers accept flaws, missteps, and failure as an inevitable part of the process of innovation. They have become so accustomed to putting Band-Aids on their uneven innovation success that too often they give no real thought to what's causing it in the first place.

To succeed predictably, disruptors must be good theorists. As they shape their growth business to be disruptive, they must align every critical process and decision to fit the disruptive circumstance.

As difficult as it may seem, you've got to be honest with yourself about this whole process. Change can often be difficult, and it will probably seem easier to just stick with what you are already doing. That thinking can be dangerous. You're only kicking the can down the road, and you risk waking up one day, years later, looking into the mirror, asking yourself: What am I doing with my life?

The problem is, lifestyle demands can quickly lock in place the personal resource allocation process.

I don't plot or outline, though I may take a few notes here and there, instead I let my dream world fill up each night with a segment of the story. I do this without worrying about it, or trying to force it, and when I wake up the dream bag is full, and I can go to my writing desk, and dream all over the page.

I begin. I write a draft without ever looking back. Without ever touching what's gone before. Because I think it will be shit, so I daren't look back. I write a draft. I start again. I have the text when I start the second draft and then I do the same thing a third time. - To Linda L. Richards, The January Interview

I never write purely for the fun of it. I write as a mathematician uses a sheet of paper for doing calculations: because I think better that way

As for my next book, I won't write it till it has grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.

The weather varies between heavy fog and pale sunshine; My thoughts follow the exact same process.

Either I shall find it, or I shall not find it. I examine my note-case. I look in all my pockets. These are the things that forever interrupt the process upon which I am eternally engaged of finding some perfect phrase that fits this moment exactly.

I note however that this diary writing does not count as writing, since I have just re-read my year's diary and am much struck by the rapid haphazard gallop at which it swings along, sometimes indeed jerking almost intolerably over the cobbles.

the thought process: It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it, until - you know the little tug - the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one's line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? p.5

There was all the difference in the world between this planning airily away from the canvas and actually taking her brush and making the first mark.

Then beneath the colour [of the paint] was the shape. She could see it all so clearly, so commandingly, when she looked: it was when she took her brush in hand that the whole thing changed. It was in that moment's flight between the picture and her canvas that the demons set on her who often brought her to the verge of tears and made this passage from conception to work as dreadful as any down a dark passage for a child.

Must a kettle boil?

A good day—a bad day—so it goes on. Few people can be so tortured by writing as I am. Only Flaubert I think. Yet I see it now, as a whole. I think I can bring it off, if I only have courage and patience: take each scene quietly: compose: I think it may be a good book. And then—oh when it's finished!

One never gets anything worth having by post.

It's life that matters, nothing but life—the process of discovering—the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discovery itself at all.