Quotes About Creativity

Do you know what constitutes a great poet? He is a person without shame, incapable of blushing. Ordinary fools have moments when they go off by themselves and blush with shame; not so the great poet.... If you really have to quote someone, quote a geographer; that way you won't give yourself away. (p 44)

Rather than admire the mediocre great men over whom passersby nudge each other in awe, I venerate the young, unknown geniuses who die in their teens, their souls shattered - delicate, phosphorescent glowworms that one must see to know they really did exist.

Genius in the popular sense has become common. (...) Rather than admire the mediocre great men over whom passersby nudge each other in awe, I venerate the young, unknown geniuses who die in their teens, their souls shattered - delicate, phosphorescent glowworms that one must see to know they really did exist.

During those days, both the bed and my little rickety table were swimming in notes and scribbled-over manuscripts that I took turns working on, adding new ideas that occurred to me in the course of the day, crossing out material or freshening up the dead passages with a lively word here or there, and pushing on from sentence to sentence with great labor.

Du er ogsaa Kunstnersjæl, Skønaand, en Smagens Mand, et Artistgemyt,en Bohême, en Satan. Men du er ogsaa Poet. Fan ved hva du er altsammen, du er meget spredt.

Wie kam ein Mensch überhaupt dazu, so auszusehen wie er? Die große Nase war viel zu unbescheiden für sein geringes Amt im Leben; außerdem ließ er sich den ganzen Winter über die Haare nicht schneiden, was seinem Kopf von Woche zu Woche mehr Künstlerisches verlieh.

Jeg har aldri i mitt liv skrevet slibrig; men jeg kunne gi anvisning på dristigere ting i mine bøker enn hva som stod i den tyske fortelling. De er å finne f.eks. både i Sult og Pan. Men når Jacob Sverdrup leser over igjen disse steder og forarges, så vil jeg også be ham lese f.eks. Ibsens Lille Eyolf påny. Den lille nydelige, senile råhet, champagnen som ei ble rørt, bør han virkelig nippe til. Og huske. Og bruke.

I de siste Dager har jeg tænkt og tænkt paa Nordlandssommerens evige Dag. Jeg sitter her og tænker paa den og paa en Hytte som jeg bodde i og paa Skogen bak Hytten og jeg gir mig til at skrive noget ned for at forkorte Tiden og for min Fornøielses Skyld.

Det var i Almindelighed folk, som man maatte sige var tat af Vinden. Talere og Skribenter, som havde slaat sig til Ro indenfor Grænserne af sine Evner, og ikke saa længer og ikke tænkte længer. De havde ikke Brug for Udvikling. Der de stod, der stod de. De var Kommunister.

Jeg har en bog i Hovedet, men den vil ikke ud, den Satan.

Ho jeg har visst alt faat Vaaren i mig, jeg bruker min Qvind som en gale, Fan steike mig, og æter langt bedre end på længe!(1912, brev til J.M. Køhler Olsen i Bergen)

Den store dikter avstedkommer en sammenknepen mund i sit ansigt, strammer sit fuglebryst ut til det ytterste og frembringer følgende ord: Å dikte er å holde dommedag over sig selv.

Wergeland] slapp å bli en olding som satt og gjorde seg motbydelig for sine omgivelser ved sin elde. En gave var det til ham fra gudene, en nåde var det mot ham av gudene. Og heller ikke gled han nedover til den slappelse i sin produksjon som kanskje ville føre til en St. Olav eller en annen fin anerkjennelse, dertil ble han iallfall ikke gammel nok; nei han døde ung. ("Wergeland", tale på Henrik Wergelands hundreårsdag 17. juni 1908)

Jeg vilde bare vise, hvilken Højde, man kunde drive det til med Ord, derfor ble disse Stumper bare Ord, pene Ord, Klingeling.

This began to get interesting. The situation ran away with me, and one lie after another engendered in my head. I sat down again, forgot the newspaper, and the remarkable documents, grew lively, and cut short the old fellow's talk. The little goblin's unsuspecting simplicity made me foolhardy; I would stuff him recklessly full of lies; rout him out o' field grandly, and stop his mouth from sheer amazement. Had he heard of the electric psalm-book that Happolati had invented?

But there was something magical about my idea. I had to admit, I felt better and happier when it was around.

En la Naturaleza, la verdad supera en belleza a todo lo que puedan imaginar nuestros poetas, que son los únicos encantadores que existen.

There is no greater sin against the spirit of true art, no more contemptible dilettanism than to use artistic license as a specious cover for ignorance of fact.

I was truly happy. But my state was not that of any ordinary satisfaction. It was a joy which stemmed directly from creative, artistic achievement.

Create your own method. Don't depend slavishly on mine. Make up something that will work for you! But keep breaking traditions, I beg you.

If you speak any lines, or do anything, mechanically, without fully realizing who you are, where you came from, why, what you want, where you are going, and what you will do when you get there, you will be acting without imagination. That time, whether it will be short or long, will be unreal, and you will be nothing more than a wound-up machine, an automation.

At the bottom of every process of obtaining creative material for our work is emotion. Feeling, however, does not replace an immense amount of work on the part of our intellects. Perhaps you are afraid that the little touches which your mind may add on its own account will spoil your material drawn from life? Never fear that. Often these original additions enhance it greatly if your belief in them is sincere.

don't spend your time chasing after an inspiration that once chanced your way. It is as unrecoverable as yesterday, as the joys of childhood, as first love. Bend your efforts to creating a new and fresh inspiration for today. There is no reason to suppose that it will be less good than yesterday's. It may not be as brilliant. But you have the advantage of possessing it today.

For the first month of school, writing is its own upper. Pounding on my computer keys feels like playing the piano, like arranging words into harmony that sings back to me.