Quotes About Creation

To live a fulfilled life, we need to keep creating the 'what is next' of our lives. Without dreams and goals, there is no living, only merely existing, and that is not why we are here.

My father gave me the gifts of being able to pay attention to my inner narration no matter how tedious the damn thing could be at times and the knowledge that creating something, be it music or a painting or a poem or a short story, was a way out of wherever you were and a way to find out what the hell happens next and not have it be just the same old thing.

My dear girl, is it that you are so lonely that you had to create this?

words need worlds in order to be worlds. worlds though don't need words in order to be worlds.

You could not believe what one sigh articulates. What one laugh creates.

Even up until these final eons of time, we felt we could create anything. We could build ourselves a heaven. But why? We were Heaven already. Only in the very end did we try to build a S.O.U.L. That which would outlast V.E.M., outlast The Verse, outlast death. But it was impossible. Or we were too late. Though still the H.O.L.Y. tried. And built Hell instead.

We all create stories to protect ourselves

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

She slid a book from the shelf and sat with it on the floor. She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words lttered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be ant of this. What good were the words? The book thief stood and waled carefully to the library door.

The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.

A KEY WORD*** Imagined

The moon was sewn into the sky that night

Tenía lo que llamaba un pequeño surtido de herramientas: Un libro pintado. Un puñado de lápices. Una cabeza llena de ideas. Como si fueran piezas de un puzzle, empezó a encajarlas.

Azt hiszem az emberek szeretnek nézni egy kis pusztítást. Homokvár, kártyavár, ezzel kezdik. És egyre nagyobb dolgok jönnek-ehhez nagy tehetségük van.

Die Noten wurden in ihrem Atem geboren und starben auf ihren Lippen.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hands to touch.

When building monsters don't be surprised when they become monstrous.

Woman breed baby, but man can only make Frankenstein.

An angry God is the projection and creation of angry people.

External circumstances do not create feeling states. Feeling states create external circumstances.

Fiction is the only way to redeem the formlessness of life

He turns the pages from right to left. He begins at the beginning and ends at the end. This makes a quirky sense to me—but Mikio and I are definitely in the minority here. And how can we two be right? It would make so many others wrong. Water moves upward. It seeks the highest level. What did you expect? Smoke falls. Things are created in the violence of fire. But that's all right. Gravity still pins us to the planet.

How do you think the world popped into existence? - I'd say wee we are at least five Albert Einsteins away from answering this question.

Death is an artist, not an intellectual.