Best 1551 quotes in «creation quotes» category

If we want to know what God wants from us as Christians, we must have a firm biblical grasp of His intention in making man in the first place.

If we would answer the question of the existence of the Evil then we would not be sinners, we could make something else responsible.

If what you want does not exist, why not create it?

If where we are now and whatever we are going through does not motivate us to leave this world better than the way we met it, we are in this world for wrong reasons.

If you are afraid of the critics you will never write a word

If you are writing fiction, think like a god. Release all the power of your imagination; create worlds and destroy them at your will, create as many miracles as your story needs

If you believe that you are not omnipresent, omniscient, and ultimately omnipotent, then you are deluded.

If you destroy the foundations of anything, the structure will collapse. If you want to destroy any building, you are guaranteed early success if you destroy the foundations.

If you do not carry out your mission, the world will lose what God created you to do

If you don’t give yourself permission to create a new world, chances are nobody else will.

if you know the art of seeing it in your now, you know how to have in in your future!!!! <3

If you’re struggling to “think outside the box” remember the box is self-imposed. Who says it has to be a box? Why not a bowl of petunias?

. If you want to write, just write anything that comes into your mind. You will be surprised at how you can force inspiration to stand on your side.

I had once repeated the experiment to reassure myself that this was so, and it was. Ashes to ashes; starch to sugar. A little window into the Creation

I guess that sometimes it just takes a long walk through the darkness, a long walk through the darkest shadows and corners of your soul to realize that those are a part of you as well, that you've created through your experiences and thoughts those parts within yourself and as much as you can choose to fear them and repress them, they will require your attention one day, they will need your care and acceptance before you can clean them away and turn the lights on. For you refuse to shine the light on something that is imperfect, because you fear judgement and rejection, but you can always choose to look towards the light as the only source of true beauty and love that can help you in the cleaning process. Healing, after a long time of struggle and mess is a complex process, but a necessary one nevertheless. We are so overwhelmed by the amount of work it requires that we so often choose to run away from the light, hide in our dark corner and hope that we will never be found, hope that we will never be seen, or desperately look outwards for that love and compassion that we can no longer find within ourselves, for our soul's light no longer shines as it used to. And sometimes we just find those people that can see the light beneath all that dust and darkness that's been pilled up, those kind of light workers that understand our broken souls and manage to pick us up and see the beauty within us, when we find it so hard to see it ourselves. Sometimes I get so tired of separation, of division, of groups and different religions and belief systems. Even if you do find the truth, once you've put it into words, books and rules it already becomes distorted by the mind into something that is no longer truth. So I no longer hope for understanding, no longer hope for the opinion of a judgemental mind, but I hope to find the words that touch the soul before the mind, I hope to find the touch that warms the heart from deep inside, and hope to find that far away abandoned part of me which I've left behind.

I have come to see this fear, this sense of my own imperilment by my creations, as not only an inevitable, necessary part of writing fiction but as virtual guarantor, insofar as such a thing is possible, of the power of my work: as a sign that I am on the right track, that I am following the recipe correctly, speaking the proper spells. Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed. Telling the truth, when the truth matters most, is almost always a frightening prospect. If a writer doesn’t give away secrets, his own or those of the people he loves; if she doesn’t court disapproval, reproach and general wrath, whether of friends, family, or party apparatchiks; if the writer submits his work to an internal censor long before anyone else can get their hands on it, the result is pallid, inanimate, a lump of earth. The adept handles the rich material, the rank river clay, and diligently intones his alphabetical spells, knowing full well the history of golems: how they break free of their creators, grow to unmanageable size and power, refuse to be controlled. In the same way, the writer shapes his story, flecked like river clay with the grit of experience and rank with the smell of human life, heedless of the danger to himself, eager to show his powers, to celebrate his mastery, to bring into being a little world that, like God’s, is at once terribly imperfect and filled with astonishing life. Originally published in The Washington Post Book World

I have never felt the need to worship someone or something, but I recognize the beauty of creation, the miraculosity of existence, and honor the genius behind the scene, who came up with all of this.

I have learned that creation is not just about inventing a lot of new stuff. The natural creation is to invent a lot of quality stuff.

I have often believed the pen to be a needle, and ink to be a thread. Each story is an intricately woven tapestry and with each word I invariably sew a piece of myself into the page.

I have often noticed that these things, which obsess me, neither bother nor impress other people even slightly. I am horribly apt to approach some innocent at a gathering, and like the ancient mariner, fix him with a wild, glitt’ring eye and say, “Do you know that in the head of the caterpillar of the ordinary goat moth there are two hundred twenty-eight separate muscles?” The poor wretch flees. I am not making chatter; I mean to change his life.

Image-bearers always go in or on a temple. And they can't move. They are metal, wood, stone, etc. But in Genesis the images are flesh. A divine mix of spirit, flesh, love, and humanness. And Adam and Eve are placed in the garden, which is God saying loud and clear that from the beginning he wants to flood the earth with his presence. The whole world is his temple.

I loved the fact there was a God who had made me, who had created everything around me. Jesus made sense to me. He’s real. He’s personal.” “He likes you,” Bishop remarked gently. “Exactly…I wasn’t smarted than He was. I adored Jesus for that fact. Every question I had, Jesus knew how to answer. That was such a relief. Not that He would always answer, but I knew I could search for an answer and find one, and it often felt like God was helping me go the right direction with my search.” “I’d bump into something cool God had made, and I’d promptly tell Him all about what I’d found and bombard Him with questions about it.

Imagination is the first step of creation

Imagine God and Man set down together to play that game of chess that we call life. The one player is a master, the other a bungling amateur, so the outcome of the game cannot be in question. The amateur has free will, he does what he pleases, for it was he who chose to set up his will against that of the master in the first place; he throws the whole board into confusion time and again and by his foolishness delays the orderly ending of it all for countless generations, but every stupid move of his is dealt with by a masterly counterstroke, and slowly but inexorably the game sweeps on to the master's victory. But, mind you, the game could not move on at all without the full complement of pieces; Kings, Queens, Bishops, Knights, Pawns; the master does not lose sight of a single one of them.

I'm a peasant I'm the muzhik A pest you're destined to play the music And yes it's pleasant to say it's beauty I'm Indebted to rest respecting it truly

I know Good will triumph. This veil of evil will be carried away by the sweet breeze of Perfect Love. Though Love comes like a whisper, it has the power of a hurricane– And when it passes over us, the whole of Creation will be remade.

I love who I am. I am beautiful creation of God.

I made the exhilarating discovery that study, when it is pursued with ardour and discipline, becomes creation.

I must not expect everyone to act or think like I do as God has created each of us differently.

I’m grateful to God for the eyes in my head, and for the wildness of the spinning world these eyes see. This world, shaped by His words, can never be tamed by mine. But there is joy to be had in trying and falling short

In death, when our physicality is stripped away and our essence released to join the eternal song of creation, there is no sin or offense, no judgment or worry.

In a perfectly designed world —one with no history— we would not have to suffer everything from hemorrhoids to cancer.

I never disliked humanity more than when I watched how indifferently they reacted to creation

In each painting, I think, it’s as if  God were giving up on finishing the world.

In Egyptian Arabic, the word 'insan' means 'human'. If we remove the 'n', the word becomes 'insa', which means 'to forget'. So you see, the word 'forget' is taken from the word 'human'. And since it was God who created our minds and hearts, He knew from the very beginning that we would quickly forget our history, only to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. So the ultimate test of every human is to seek wisdom. After all, wisdom is gained from having a good memory. Only after we have passed this test will we evolve to become better humans. Man is only a forgetful mortal, but God — He sees, hears and remembers everything.

In every possibility of a mind May you travel, yet not blind. As a head filled with imagination, Goes a heart full of gold creation, It's never late to have a dream. Nor is it so far away as it seems, And, like a rearview mirror reveals, Thus a fantasy soon becomes real. It may be closer than it appears. Or at least it will show up clear. Never give up a dream for fear!

In her eye I see that the eagle must even know my name and, by the gaping of her beak, will shortly scream my name, and this terrifies me. For shall my name be screamed in judgment or in blessing? And what shall be my name when it resounds to the four corners of the earth?

In life, everything is built. Have you thought about it. You built who you are, how you want to be perceived, you built your character, you chose to remain where you are, you are your own creator. You can choose to be something else. You are not what you were, you can be anything you choose to build.

In nature, improbabilities are the one stock in trade. The whole creation is one lunatic fringe. If creation had been left up to me, I'm sure I wouldn't have had the imagination or courage to do more than shape a single, reasonably sized atom, smooth as a snowball, and let it go at that.

In order to protect their good names for posterity, many writers never wrote what they thought or the truth as it stood. That's why truth still lies hidden in matters of power, sex and religion. No wonder they chose to do so, many who dared paid with their heads

In order for something to evolve, it must be created first.

Inquire within, rather than without, asking: "What part of my Self do I wish to experience now? What aspects of being do I choose to call forth?" For all of life exists as a tool of your own creation, and all of its events merely present themselves as opportunities for you to decide, and be, Who You Are.

In poetry we pare down our thoughts into their most graceful shapes, like minimalist sculptures.

In our desire to impose form on the world and our lives we have lost the capacity to see the form that is already there; and in that lies not liberation but alienation, the cutting off of things as they really are.

In some way, every creative action disturbs the universe.

Inspiration fans the flame of creation.

In the beginning, there was nothing. Then, out of the nothing came the Word and the Word was power. Every utterance of the Word gave form to the Void, starting with beings to utter the Word. There was no Adam, no Eve, and no need. What Man named was.

Intellectually secure people do not need to show anyone how smart they are. They are empirical and seek truth. Intellectually insecure people need to show everyone how smart they are. They are egotistical and seek triumph.

In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness. And God said, "Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done." And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked. "What is the purpose of all this?" he asked politely. "Everything must have a purpose?" asked God. "Certainly," said man. "Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this," said God. And He went away.

In the beginning there was nothing, and then god created "me".