Quotes About Creation

The intention that man should be happy is not in the plan of Creation.

It would be very nice if there were a God who created the world and was a benevolent providence, and if there were a moral order in the universe and an after-life; but it is a very striking fact that all this is exactly as we are bound to wish it to be.

Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God.

How we who have little belief envy those who are convinced of the existence of a Supreme Power, for whom the world holds no problems because He Himself has created all its institutions!

Eros und Ananke sind auch die Eltern der menschlichen Kultur geworden.

I Am the Architect of My Own Destiny

Human beings could not have done this work on their own. God's spirit had been at work in holy Øistein and the men who built the church after him. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Now she understood those words. A reflection of the splendor of God's kingdom bore witness through the stones that His will was all that was beautiful.

Daylight is the time God moves about the best. I've heard people say that they liked to watch the world come awake. But the world is always awake; sunlight just makes it seeable. In that moment when light hit the mountain, when the sun cracked through the sky big enough to make a noise if our ears could hear it, I would be aware again of all the things that had been going on throughout the night. Morning just made it easier to hear. Light takes away muteness. I

You can always make something out of nothing.

Many wish to believe that there was a Trojan War, so powerful is the hold of Homer on our imaginations. As a result, people do not always pause sufficiently to ask what sort of work the Iliad is, nor what might count as good archaeological evidence for a Trojan War. The Iliad, composed five hundred years after the events it purports to describe, is an imaginative creation of a world mostly very different from the contemporary world of the poet. It cannot be treated as a work of history.

This is what we did with our time; this is how we made it Our Time.

God is the finger; God is writing; God, is above all else, words.

appointed vice-chancellor of Cambridge University, calculated that God made the world on October 23, 4004 BC, but he was able to further refine Ussher's arithmetic, proving that God got started at exactly 9:00 that morning, presumably after His breakfast.

Such a series of hammer blows! Mankind, it seemed, was now suddenly really rather—dare one say it?—insignificant. He may not after all have been, as he had eternally supposed, specially created. The Book of Genesis, believed by so many to be Holy Writ, was perhaps no more than the stuff of myth and ancient legend. And now even the continents themselves, long supposed to be the most reliable and unshifting bedrock of our very existence, had become mobile.

I am not yet so lost in lexicography, as to forget that words are the daughters of the earth, and that things are sons of heaven.

To paint, to write, to engage in politics—these are not merely 'sublimations'; here we have aims that are willed for their own sakes. To deny it is to falsify all human history.

Women – the Parcae and Moirai – weave human destiny; but they also cut the threads. In most folk representations, Death is woman and women mourn the dead because death is their work.fn6 Thus, Mother Earth has a face of darkness: she is chaos, where everything comes from and must return to one day; she is Nothingness.

La fécondité absurde de la femme l'empêchait de participer activement à l'accroissement de ces ressources tandis qu'elle créait indéfiniment de nouveaux besoins.

They bear the responsibility for a world which is not the work of a strange power, but of themselves, where their defeats are inscribed, and their victories as well.

Mie imi trebuie o viata devotata. Am nevoie sa actionez, sa ma agit, sa creez; am nevoie de un tel pe care sa-l ating, de greutati de invins, de o opera de realizat. Nu sunt facuta pentru lux.

Es mío solamente aquello en lo que reconozco mi ser y no puedo reconocerlo sino ahí donde estoy comprometido; para que un objeto me pertenezca, es preciso que haya sido fundado por mí: no es totalmente mío si no lo he fundado en su totalidad. La única realidad que me pertenece enteramente es pues, mi acto.

Mis relaciones con las cosas no están dadas, no son fijas; las creo minuto a minuto, algunas mueren, algunas nacen y otras resucitan. Sin cesar cambian.

Es en el objeto finito que crea, donde el hombre, encontrará un reflejo fijo de su trascendencia.

Qué esperamos pues del otro? Estaría equivocada en esperar que el otro me llevara lejos a través de un devenir sin fin: ningún acto humano se propaga hasta el infinito. Lo que otro crea a partir de mí no es ya mío.