Quotes About Creativity

Another fantasy film rolled suddenly into his head, without his consent:

To inspire himself, he lit up a marijuana cigarette, excellent Land-O-Smiles brand.

It's impossible that James Joyce could have mentioned talk-tapes in his writing, Asher thought. Someday I'm going to get my article published; I'm going to prove that Finnegan's Wake is an information pool based on computer memory systems that didn't exist until a century after James Joyce's era; that Joyce was plugged into a cosmic consciousness from which he derived the inspiration for his entire corpus of work. I'll be famous forever.

Never walk over a writer, I said to myself, unless you're positive he can't rise up behind you. If you're going to burn him, make sure he's dead. Because if he's alive, he will talk: talk in written form, on the printed, permanent page.

Amazing, the power of fiction, even cheap popular fiction, to evoke.

Law of economy: nothing is waste. Even the unreal. What a sublimity in the process.

You know what I think? I think you've picked up the Nazi idea that Jews can't create. That they can only imitate and sell. Middlemen.' He fixed his merciless scrutiny on Frink. 'Maybe so,' Frink said.

They know a million tricks, those novelists.

Amazing, the power of fiction, even cheap popular fiction, to evoke. No wonder it's banned within Reich territory;

Science fiction writers, I am sorry to say, really do not know anything.

This rehearsal will end, the performance will end, the singers will die, eventually the last score of music will be destroyed in one wya or another; finally the name Mozart will vanish, the dust will have won. If not on this planet then another. We can evade it awhile.

Too bad Mahler never saw a Morley wah-wah pedal, he thought, or he would have scored it into one of his longer works.

However, I do think one could say this; rather than having it read: Ubik, by Philip K. Dick, one could put it this way: PHILIP K. DICK By Ubik In a sense I am joking, of course, but in a sense I am not.

Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand.

This man is different. He can fix anything, do anything. He doesn't work with knowledge, with science—the classified accumulation of facts. He knows nothing. It's not in his head, a form of learning. He works by intuition—his power is in his hands, not his head. Jack-of-all-trades. His hands! Like a painter, an artist. In his hands—and he cuts across our lives like a knife-blade.

We made it up and then we were stuck with what we made up.

Nella tua mente c'è qualcosa che nessun altro ha. Ma non si tratta di precognizione. Di cosa allora? Hai senso dell'umorismo fu la risposta di Gretchen.

The danger from the imaginative mind cannot be overestimated.

I'm not in the novel, I am the novel

Thinking this he wondered if Mozart had had any intuition that the future did not exist, that he had already used up his little time.

tiene por casualidad una droga cuyo efecto, en unos términos semejantes a los del órgano Hammerstein, corresponda a algunos fragmentos del movimiento coral de la Novena de Beethoven?

cuando se crea algo, adquiere vida propia y deja de pertenecer al creador que la ha moldeado y dirigido según sus deseos.

Then," the girl continued, in a quiet monotone, "the individual applied a high-temperature pack to the forward leg—the right leg. The statue is a poured thermoplastic. When the leg became flexible, the culprit reshaped its position. Major Streiter now appears to be holding his head in his hand, ready to kick it far into the park. Quite original, and quite embarrassing.

Poetry is nobody's business except the poet's, and everybody else can fuck off.