Quotes About Creation

We didn't have sense enough to take care of it. Now it's torn. And the artist is dead.

This is a snowflake that was once a flame—the flame was once the fragment of a star.

Es el tipo de cosa que, si sabes que se puede hacer, la haces tú mismo, si dispones del tiempo suficiente.

The real danger, the ultimate horror, happens when the creating and protecting, the sheltering, comes first—and then the destruction. Because if this is the sequence, everything built up ends in death.

He was interested in only one thing: turning out the best job he could, with the skill he possessed. For us, that skill has opened up a whole universe, endless galaxies and systems to explore. Worlds without end. Unlimited, untouched worlds.

In a society where we rely upon pundits, analysts, and various forms of social media to shape our responses and tell us what we should feel and think, the twin viruses of complacency and apathy are given entre into our psyche. Numbing us out. The 'alien forces' that come to invade our minds are our own creation.

engineer finishes

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

He built, and the more he built the more he enjoyed building. By now the city was over eighty miles deep and five miles in diameter. The whole island had been converted into a single vast city that honeycombed and interlaced farther each day. Eventually it would reach the land beyond the ocean; then the work would begin in earnest.

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.

We have to build the Republic of Heaven where we are, because for us, there is no elsewhere.

One moment several things are possible, the next moment only one happens, and the rest don't exist. Except that other worlds have sprung into being, on which the did happen.

And then what? said her daemon sleepily. Build what? The Republic of Heaven, said Lyra.

He was never the creator. He was an angel like ourselves—the first angel, true, the most powerful, but he was formed of Dust as we are, and Dust is only a name for what happens when matter begins to understand itself. Matter loves matter. It seeks to know more about itself, and Dust is formed.

There is time, and there is beyond time. History belongs to time, but truth belongs to what is beyond time. In writing of things as they should have been, you are letting truth into history. You are the word of God.

for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return

Stories aren't made of language: they're made of something else. A little earlier I said that stories were about life; perhaps they're made of life.

Was there only one world after all, which spent its time dreaming of others?

Good intentions never wrote a story worth reading.

The narrating voice that tells 'Middlemarch' is just as much a made-up character as Dorothea or Mr. Casaubon.

Into this wild abyss, The womb of nature and perhaps her grave, Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, But all these in their pregnant causes mixed Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight, Unless the almighty maker them ordain His dark materials to create more worlds, Into this wild abyss the wary fiend Stood on the brink of hell and looked a while, Pondering his voyage . . .

One strange thing about stories is that you sometimes know how long they're going to be, even before you've begun thinking about them.

Anything that was associated with human workmanship and human thought was surrounded by Shadows.…

Was there only one world, after all, that spent its time dreaming of others?