Quotes About Creativity

Lying increases the creative faculties, expands the ego, lessens the friction of social contacts. It is only in lies, wholeheartedly and bravely told, that human nature attains through words and speech the forbearance, the nobility, the romance, the idealism, that -- being what it is -- it falls so short of in fact and in deed.

Someday I hope to write a book where the royalties will pay for the copies I give away.

Sympathy is the child of imagination

Yo, poeta de oficio, condenada tantas veces

Escrevo por não ter nada a fazer no mundo: sobrei e não há lugar para mim na terra dos homens. Escrevo porque sou um desesperado e estou cansado, não suporto mais a rotina de me ser e se não fosse a sempre novidade que é escrever, eu me morreria simbolicamente todos os dias. (A hora da estrela)

I write very simple and very naked. That's why it wounds. I'm a grey and blue landscape. I rise in a dry fountain and in the cold light.

I write because I have nothing better to do in this world: I am superfluous and last in the world of men. I write because I am desperate and weary. I can no longer bear the routine of my existence and, were it not for the constant novelty of writing, I should die symbolically each day.

I am not an intellectual, I write with my body. And what I write is a moist fog.

I read what I'd written and thought once again: from what violent chasms is my most intimate intimacy nourished, why does it deny itself so much and flee to the domain of ideas? I feel within me a subterranean violence, a violence that only comes to the surface during the act of writing.

To write you I first cover myself with perfume.

Sometimes writing a single line is enough to save your own heart.

La coherencia es mutilación. Quiero el desorden

What I really do when I write you is follow myself, and I'm doing it right now: I'm following myself without knowing what it will lead me to. Sometimes following myself is so hard. Because of following something that's still so nebulous. Sometimes I end up stopping.

her short stories read like perfect songs.

I don't want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth.

I also want the figurative like a painter who only paints abstract colors but wants to show that he does so because he chooses to, not because he can't draw.

Enquanto eu tiver perguntas e não houver resposta continuarei a escrever.

In no sense an intellectual, I write with my body. And what I write is like a dank haze. The words are sounds transfused with shadows that intersect unevenly, stalactites, woven lace, transposed organ music. I can scarcely invoke the words to describe this pattern, vibrant and rich, morbid and obscure, its counterpoint the deep bass of sorrow.

I write in acrobatics and pirouettes in the air - I write because I so deeply want to speak.

No, no es fácil escribir. Es duro como partir rocas. Pero saltan chispas y astillas como aceros pulidos.

she is a harmless virgin whom nobody needs. It strikes me that I don't need her either and that what I am writing could be written by another. Another writer, of course, but it would have to be a man for a woman would weep her heart out.

Ainda bem que o que eu vou escrever já deve estar na certa de algum modo escrito em mim

To write, therefore, is the way of someone who uses the word as bait; the word fishes for something that is not a word. When that non-word takes the bait, something has been written. Once the space between the lines has been fished, the word can be discarded with relief. But here the analogy ends: the non-word upon taking the bait , has assimilated it. Salvation, then, is to read 'absent-minded'.

Escribo como si fuera a salvar la vida de alguien. Probablemente mi propia vida.