Quotes About Creativity

The man who never in his mind and thoughts travel'd to heaven is no artist.

One Power alone makes a Poet: Imagination, the Divine Vision.

art can never exist without naked beauty displayed

Praise is the practice of Art.

All great artists are doubters.

This is vexing: I feel in a kind of limbo - an author but not truly an author, true authorship being conferred by having a book physically published - a thing you can hold in your hand, purchase in a bookshop.

I may be a shit writer,' I remember him saying once, 'but I'm richer than any of the good ones.

he considered further, the very ability to fantasise was a fundamental feature

The most creative leaders are smart yet naive, playful but disciplined, humble, and proud.

Vuja dé is the flip side of that—looking at a familiar situation (an industry you've worked in for decades, products you've worked on for years) as if you've never seen it before, and, with that fresh line of sight, developing a distinctive point of view on the future.

A new music is a new mind.

The only realism in art is of the imagination.

Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses.

Danse Russe If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,-- if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: I am lonely, lonely. I was born to be lonely, I am best so! If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,-- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?

There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose- red grasses and you- in your apron hurrying to catch- say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that put wings at your heels, at your knees.

You remember I had a strong inclination all my life to be a painter. Under different circumstances I would rather have been a painter than to bother with these god-damn words. I never actually thought of myself as a poet but I knew I had to be an artist in some way.

Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.

The poet thinks with his poem...

The imagination, intoxicated by prohibitions, rises to drunken heights to destroy the world. Let it rage, let it kill.

And a church spire sketched on the sky, of sheet metal and open beams, to resemble a church spire

The man of imagination who turns to art for release and fulfilment of his baby promises contends with the sky through the layers of demoded words and shapes.

perhaps it is all art and Barnum our one genius (in the arts) on the moral plane

Poets are dammed but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of the angels.

The same things exist, but in a different condition when energized by the imagination.