Quotes About Creativity

Hey, if the cow could jump over the moon, I didn't see why the sun couldn't jump over two cows.)

Ow, I muttered, because I was once the god of poetry and have great descriptive powers.

Sure, sis!' Then he raised his hands in a stop everything gesture. 'I feel a haiku coming on.

Having a vivid imagination is a terrible curse.

A good artist must be good at many things.

I try not to think," Leo admitted. "It interferes with being nuts.

How could music cause so many lives to veer off course?

I hated visiting Hephaestus's office. His desk toys were so mesmerizing I found myself staring at them for hours, sometimes decades. I missed the entire 1480s that way

And please God, grant me the wisdom to remember that I am writing for children, not golden stickers.

A tinkerer," snapped Pasiphaë. "Even worse. I knew Daedalus. His inventions brought me nothing but trouble." Leo blinked. "Daedalus…like, the Daedalus? Well, then, you should know all about us tinkerers. We're more into fixing, building, occasionally sticking wads of oilcloth in the mouths of rude ladies—

She was dressed in a rainbow-striped jumper that looked as if it had been crocheted for a gorilla by a gorilla.

And when all else is gone, Art remains.

But wasn't artistic endeavor the final refuge of the uncommitted?

Art was dangerous—it gave you ideas.

These were ideal conditions for the creation of his magnum opus, and Ramsay was hammering on the Remington's keys and shuttling its carriage with abandon, fuelled by nothing more than Lipton's tea and a tin of cocaine throat pastilles that he'd cadged off one of the dancers at the Sphinx.

The purpose of Art,' his mother, Sylvie, said – instructed even – 'is to convey the truth of a thing, not to be the truth itself.

If an author was a god, then he was a very poor second-rate one, scrabbling around in the foothills of Olympus.

His head was always in the clouds. 'I'm writing a novel,' he told her. As if that was something to crow about. As if there weren't enough novels in the world already.

Was there a poet who hadn't written about skylarks?

The wounds of war, Juliet thought, rather pleased with the way the words sounded in her head. It could be the title of a novel. Perhaps she should write one. But wasn't artistic endeavor the final refuge of the uncommitted?

Don't let your imagination run away with you..." But why would you not when the reality was so awful?

If you were to ask me what the book is about (which is the most loathsome question you could ask—why bother to write the thing if you then have to explain it? It is what it is) and if I were forced to answer, I would say, "It's about things.

I know many writers who say that the memory of reading fairy tales is their first, and sometimes only, memory of rapture. I hope that this unpredictable, intense collection inspires you to read fairy tales-and then to read them again.

Drag queen is a gender like no other, and with practice I'd learned to rise to it.