Quotes About Creation

In a world falling to darkness, the light made by the hands of people sings and dances.

God has to be a sadist to give people life.

If you were God, what kind of human would you create?" I asked. "I wouldn't change how they look. But I would make them as dumb as chickens. So dumb they'd never even imagine the existence of a god.

I like for things to happen, for stories to unfold. And if I can't find a good enough story, I make one.

You want me to say something? Okay. Sometimes I think I am what you made me. And sometimes I don't know who I am at all. And either way I'm not happy.

We make art. We do not feel the need to cut things apart to see what they're made of.

People remember the Enemy of Death," said Alma. "But they forget the man who made him who he was.

If I can't find a good enough story I make one.

But All I Am Is Magic. Unmagic. I Am Not Nothing. I Am What Is Beyond Nothing. Annihilation. I Am The Unraveler. I Can Pull Apart Magic With A Thought.

I don't want to be a creature, shaped by their hands and quickened with their blood. Something made like a doll, from snow and sticks. An assemblage of parts, stranger even than the sluagh.

If I can't find a good enough story, I make one.

You're unwinding yourself like a spool. What happens when there's no more thread?' 'Then I spin more,' I say, carrying the metaphor. 'Let me help you,' she says, brightening. My brows rise. 'You want to make thread?

You always liked stories,' I remind him. 'You said you wanted to create sparks of stories. Well, the tale of a twin who murders her sister's betrothed is a good one, don't you think?

Every quilt has an intentional flaw because the only thing that's perfect is God.

No one is born beneath this dance. This dance gives birth to you.

Ocean, who is the source of all.

What is a child, monsieur, but the image of two beings, the fruit of two sentiments spontaneously blended?

Soon this mass of ideas became harmonized, took life, seemed, as it were, to become a living individual and moved in the midst of those domains of fancy, where the soul loves to give full rein to its wild creations.

Bir ak?am onu bir günbat?m? önünde dindarca dü?ünür buldum, güne? vadiyi bir yatak gibi göstererek doruklar? öyle bir ?ehvetle k?zart?yordu ki, do?an?n yarat?klar?n? a?ka ça??rmas?na arac?l?k eden ?u duras?z ilahiler ilahisini duymamak olanaks?zd?.

Ak mladík v diev?ati prebudí lásku a potom odíde, je to ako ke? umelec opustí v polovici majstrovské dielo.

Les fruits de l'amour passent vite, ceux de l'art sont immortels.

The most perennial and the best materialized of human ideas, the idea by which man reproduces himself by creating outside of himself the fictitious being called Property, that mental demon, drove its steel claws perpetually into his heart.

An artist should be as impartial as God.

With most people, not describable as artists, all the finer part of their vitality goes into sex. They become third-rate poets during their courtship. All their instincts of drama come out freshly with their wives. The artist is he in whom this emotionality normally absorbed by sex is so strong that it claims a newer and more exclusive field of deployment. Its first creation is the Artist himself, a new sort of person; the creative man.