Quotes About Creativity

I do wish to run, seize this greatest time in all the history of man to be alive, stuff my senses with it, eye it, touch it, listen to it, smell it, taste it, and hope that others will run with me, pursuing and pursued by ideas and ideas-made machines.

Without knowing I had been Tut's child all the while, writing the Red World's hieroglyphics, thinking I thrived futures even in dust-rinsed pasts.

Ä°nsanl???n en harikulade ÅŸeyi bu; hiçbir zaman, her ÅŸeyi yeniden yapmas?n? engelleyecek kadar cesaretsizliÄŸe veya iÄŸrentiye kap?lmamas?, çünkü yapt??? iÅŸin ne kadar önemli ve yapmaya deÄŸer olduÄŸunu bilir.

la ciencia no es más que la investigación de un milagro inexplicable, y el arte, la interpretación de ese milagro.

Stuff your eyes with wonder.

Over the years, they had tuned the walk, prying up an A board and nailing it here, lifting up an F board and pounding it back down there until the walk was as near onto being melodious as weather and two entrepreneurs could fashion it.

Outside the window the boys gabbled to each other. 'White as milk, she said. White as milk.' 'White as a stone, like chalk you write with.

Y para eso escribo, escribo, escribo, al mediodía o a las tres de la madrugada. Para no estar muerto.

Ray Bradbury

Esas almas infelices que pensan que a imaxinación é prexudicial para a mente.

Father had to choose between finishing a story or playing with the girls. I chose to play, of course, which endangered the family income. An office had to be found. We couldn't afford one.

Yakmak bir zevkti.

Not to write, for many of us, is to die.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you. For writing allows just the proper recipes of truth, life, reality as you are able to eat, drink, and digest without hyperventilating and

Thomas Wolfe ate the world and vomited lava. Dickens dined at a different table every hour of his life. Molière, tasting society, turned to pick up his scalpel, as did Pope and Shaw. Everywhere you look in the literary cosmos, the great ones are busy loving and hating.

I rarely watch the 'parlor walls' or go to races or Fun parks. So I've lots of time for crazy thoughts, I guess.

Metaphor is the medicine.

In his half-sleep last night he had felt something writing on the insides of his eyelids.

instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators,...

How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or your real hatred somehow got onto the paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like a lightning bolt? What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them?

Last night I've thought about all that kerosene I've used in the past 10 years, and I thought about books. And for the first time, I realized that a man was behind each one of the books. A man had to think them up. A man had to take a long time to put them down on paper, and I'd never even thought that thought before. It took some man a lifetime maybe to put some of his thoughts down, looking around at the world and life. And then I come walking in and BOOM, it's all over.

The stories, the plays, were born in a yelping litter. I had but to get out of their way.

Don't let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world.

my aunt Neva was the guardian and gardener of the metaphors that became me. She saw to it that I was fed all the best fairy tales, poetry, cinema, and theater, so that I was continually in a fever about life and eager to write it all down.