Quotes About Creation

To be honest, I'm really not interested on how I'm viewed as. The only thing I'm interested in is to keep creating something special. Whether that something is synonymous to me or not is really none of my concern.

You are the designer of your destiny; you are the author of your story.

Consider this: on the first day of creation, before God picked up the pen to scribble in stars and moon, sun and sky (and the sea monsters of the deep); the Lord God looked at the margins around and wondered what might come to life in those edges of existence. What we would see as void and empty, God saw as opportunity. Eugene Peterson, in The Message, describes it this way: "Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness" (Genesis 1:2).

COBE discovered the quantum fluctuations that were generated when the Universe was roughly the size of a grain of sand, and which are ultimately the origin of you

The ability to become a person of our own making is the perfect lie. I concede that it might appear that some

Reading unfolds like a game called 'I,' in public gardens in good weather, in a series of worn-down hotel rooms, in museums in winter, where 'I' is the composite figure who is going to write but hasn't yet.

I just don't see the point of not eating cheese. I mean, if God didn't want us to eat cheese, would he have let man invent it?

Personally, I like to imagine the Godhead dancing it a rhythm of its own, something even grander than a waltz, touching, tasting, smelling, seeing, and hearing, creating wonder after wonder, and when it's finished, looking upon the handiwork and saying, "This is great!

It was an octopus with one eye. A Cyclops octopus. I'd call it a cyclopoctopus until a better name came along.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there. The palace started as a single vaulted room and grew in proportion to my despair. It began as an exercise to keep my mind from its melancholy, then it became a dream and a necessity. . . . I built a temple in my head. . . . Its hallways were as lofty as a cathedral, and the arch of each window as supple as a bow. Its corridors were the passages of my own brain.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there.

I believe this country has already been painted by the hand of God. We can cover it over with our own creations, but it will merely mar what is already perfect

Beautiful Savior, King of creation, Son of God, and Son of Man! Truly I love Thee, Truly I serve Thee Light of my soul, my joy, my crown. Fair are the meadows, fair are the woodlands, Robed in flow'rs of blooming spring

From dust we came, and to dust we shall return," Cornelius said.

Cerridwen – white goddess of death and creation.

Pride and resentment do not create bread that will rise. Bread, like a good life, can only be created by honest measure, patience, warmth, and time.

All of life is quilted from the scraps of what once was and is no more- the places we have been, the memories we have made, the people we have known, that which has been long loved but has grown threadbare over time and can be worn no longer. We keep only pieces. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. "All waiting to be stitched into the pattern only you can see.

In those moments, I'd known that something new was being formed in me, too, created so gently that I hadn't even realized it until that evening by the shore.

Every bird in the air came from a thought of God, and so did I.

keep only pieces. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. "All waiting to be stitched into the pattern only you can see. "In the quiet after the storm, I hear you whisper, 'Daughter, do not linger where you are. Take up your needle and your thread,

Just because I didn't create the plan didn't mean a plan didn't exist.

Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand.

She said every bird in the air came from a thought of God, and so did I.

None can contain the magnificence of a wave kissing sand or the perfect spiral of a shell drying translucent in the sun or the fire of morning rising over endless water.