Quotes About Creation

God created creativity! That might sound unusual to you, but it's true: God is the master artist, and all creative talent and inspiration flows from Him.

It takes courage to create,' he said. 'People are afraid of embarrassing themselves by not being good enough.' Or maybe even by showing who they really are.

All our stores are more or less made up, after all.

Humans create terrible things. Why do they make things that only bring them pain? It's because they don't know what's comfortable anymore. So perhaps they don't know that they are in pain…

Humans create terrible things. Why do they make things that only bring them pain? It's because they don't know what's comfortable anymore. So perhaps they don't know they are in pain.

Your heart has made Cephiro a truly beautiful place.

You decide the name for the new country! You who have watched over us from the beginning!

Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born.

And it's inside myself that I must create someone who will understand.

Clark Ashton Smith

Processes and values define how resources—many of which can be bought and sold, hired and fired—are combined to create value.

Much of the ability to create and maintain valuable brands, as a consequence, has migrated away from the product and to the channel because, for the present, it is the channel that addresses the piece of added value that is not yet good enough.

You know why the gods made people in different colors? No, why Kate asked. Too boring, everybody looking the same. The gods didn't want us to get bored.

With creation went responsibility and he was not equipped to assume more than the moral responsibility for the wrong that he had done, and moral responsibility, unless it might be coupled with the ability to bring about some mitigation, was an entirely useless thing.

I dreamt a limitless book, A book unbound, Its leaves scattered in fantastic abundance On every line there was a new horizon drawn, New heavens supposed; New states, new souls.

Always, worlds within worlds.

So we make stories of our own, in fevered and envious imitation of our Maker, hoping that we'll tell, by chance, what God left untold. And finishing our tale, come to understand why we were born.

I will say it one last time: Demonation! The feeling of it! There are no words -how can there be?- to describe what it feels like to become words, to feel your life encoded, and laid out in black ink on white paper. All my love and hatred, melted into words. It was like the End of the World.

Make a fist. Lightly. Leave enough room for a breath to pass through. Good. Good. All magic proceeds from breath. Remember that.

After a battle lasting many ages, The Devil won, And said to God (who had been his Maker): Lord, We are about to witness the unmaking of Creation By my hand. I would not wish you to think me cruel, So I beg you, take three things From this world before I destroy it. Three things, and then the rest will be wiped away. God thought for a little time. And at last He said: No, there is nothing. The Devil was surprised. Not even you, Lord? he said. And God said: No. Not even me.

Now, I don't believe that a god exists. I think that gods are creation of men, by men, and for men. What has happened over the many centuries now, the better part of two thousand in fact, is that God has been slowly and steadily accruing power. His church has been accruing power, and the men who run that church, and they are all men, are not about to give it up. If they give it up, they give up luxury, they give up comfort.

Women had always existed: they had lived, a species to themselves, with the demons. But they had wanted playmates: and together they had made men. What an error, what a cataclysmic miscalculation.

Nothing ever begins. There is no first moment; no single word or place from which this or any other story springs.

Each of these parts has a different father and mother, but he assembled me. The creature was given life eight years earlier in a charnel-house in Prague: An abattoir and me its fruit, its marvellous boy...I was a clean slate, with no memory of what this brain had been, but I knew my condition. Living corruption, a crowd sewn together in one skin. Anarchy in every limb, and bones that ached to go to dust.