Quotes About Creativity

Did I still remember how to let my mind play?

Have at you, Builders! You can't keep a science-fiction writer in Hell!

When every page has been read and the book has been put down, is the story over? Some stories flow onward through the reader's imagination. Some authors leave playgrounds for the reader's mind

She's just what any puppeteer would give his soul to be. She can't be injured.

Engineers. You had to love them. (The alternative was strangling them, and he didn't want that catching on.)

Dr. King's fitting description of the good life, 'a creative synthesis of opposites.'

When they first built the University of California at Irvine they just put the buildings in. They did not put any sidewalks, they just planted grass. The next year, they came back and put the sidewalks where the trails were in the grass. Perl is just that kind of language. It is not designed from first principles. Perl is those sidewalks in the grass.

For me, writing is a love-hate relationship.

Each species of wood has its own distinctive patterns and colors, which are revealed when the bowl is turned. —Philip Moulthrop

She was passionate about knitting because it allowed her to reach a state of peacefulness, and she loved to embroider because it let her express her creativity. Both activities were liberating. They allowed her to exist outside of time.

The only thing that had saved her then was knitting. In prison she had become a compulsive knitter. Knitting allowed her to unite, to connect, to integrate. With every stitch she held on to dear life. Threads hold us together.

La necesidad es la madre de todos los inventos y todas las posturas.

Dicen que el sordo no oye, pero compone. Tal vez Nacha sólo escuchó las palabras que todos callaron.

podemos sacar provecho de los beneficios que nos brinda la ficción para sanar nuestras emociones, para escribir nuestra nueva historia con toda libertad

For dinner they ate the stewed pumpkin with their bread. They made it into pretty shapes on their plates. It was a beautiful color, and smoothed and molded so prettily with their knives. Ma never allowed them to play with their food at table; they must always eat nicely everything that was set before them, leaving nothing on their plates. But she did let them make the rich, brown, stewed pumpkin into pretty shapes before they ate it.

Laura had only a corncob wrapped in a handkerchief, but it was a good doll. It was named Susan.

Whatever are you making, Pa?" Laura asked, and he answered, "Wait and see." He heated the tip of the poker red-hot in the stove, and carefully he burned black every alternate little square. "Curiosity killed a cat, Pa," Laura said. "You look pretty healthy," said Pa.

with which he carved the pictures. Laura and Mary were allowed to take Ma's thimble and make pretty patterns of circles in the frost on the glass. But they never spoiled the pictures that Jack Frost had made in the night. When they put their mouths close to the pane and blew their breath on it, the white frost melted and ran in drops down the glass. Then they could see the drifts of snow outdoors and the

she saw imaginatively rather than accurately.

the creativity – and competitiveness – within Agatha would not be stilled. Her life was enchantingly ordinary. Her imagination was fierce and unstoppable.

Poem after poem after poem is the heartbeat of the human race.

I have always said that a picture book is a palace for a poem. I still believe that.

It seemed as if humans had lost the ability to make their own fun. The more they were gifted with inventions, the less they needed one another. They didn't sing or play the fiddle at the hearth; they turned on the stereo. They didn't tell stories on the porch; they watched television.

A sea of dreams trapped in a span of pressed pages