Best 254 quotes in «muse quotes» category

Did you know that Bharatiyar used the pen name “Shelley-dasan”? He admired the poems of Shelley so deeply that he wrote under the name “Shelley’s servant”. Wasn’t that a wonderful gesture of humility by someone who was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who took the pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam’s poetry inspired yet another poet who wrote as Surada, short for Subburathina-dasan. And to think this long chain of inspiration spans centuries, going back to the poets who inspired Wordsworth, who inspired Shelley, who inspired our own Bharati.

Don't keep your Muse locked up in the closet. Set them free to dance across the page and what they create will be a masterpiece.

Early in her career, Muse engaged her skills for technical purposes, such as document translation and schematic visualizations for government entities. She continued to write and paint poetically, in secret, using her pen name, Muse. An inner compass is evident in her work. Pieces reflect both past and present dilemmas; while showcasing her victories in overcoming these obstacles ~ all from her faith based perspective. Light touches of modernism play hand in hand with old world strokes, offering highly visceral readings.

Enraptured by the words that I craft in my sentences, she loses herself unknowingly and surrenders herself to my poetry!

Half demon, half human, wholly f*cked." ~ Muse

Fighting demons is what I do; real, and those in my head.

Forcing the muse to let thoughts flow; equals to pushing a child, into labor.

Get off that damn chair and pull yourself together. You're supposed to be an ageless creature of chaos and all I'm getting right now is sulking city boy.

Great ideas emerges from useless fragments of thoughts.

He'd failed them, the swimming goldfish of his life's tiny existence whom he held so dear in his heart; he'd turned his muses into mistakes and no one knew the difference but him.

He always thought a muse should be sex on legs.

He became a dark paramour, her muse, and she knew that muses had a tendency to kill those they inspired. She could feel him seeping into her, like the chill. She knew she would never be rid of him now. She was his forever, and she didn't even know what he was thinking of.

Here you are. Still standing. Fierce with the reality of love and loss. Wearing the truth of our hearts on your tattered sleeves. And yes, this one very nearly took you out. And yes, there were days when the darkness was heavy and the climb out of that rabbit hole required you to mine your depths for strength you didn’t even know you had. But here you are. Broken open by hope. Cracked wide by loss. Full of longing and grief and the burn of that phoenix fire. Warrior painted with ashes. Embers from the blaze still clinging to your newborn skin, leaving you forever marked with scars of rebirth. And just look at you. Heart broken but still beating. Arms empty but still open. Face raised to the sky and giving thanks for the light, even when it hurts your eyes. My god, you are beautiful.

He stood in my quaint kitchen, looking somewhere between intrigued and mildly bored, the picture of sophisticated elegance in his obscenely expensive suit. Cufflinks reflected the light while his eyes captured it. Immortal. Ageless. Infinite. So toxic, he should come with a danger-of-death warning sign.

Her smile alone could light up the darkest of souls The scent of a harvest of roses Skin as soft as silk clothes Energy explosive

How....will I ever truly depict you? You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.

Home is not just where we come from, It is where we choose to belong.

He was no god, just an artist; and when an artist is a man, he needs a woman to create like a god.

I am privileged to have your illuminating presence in my life that adds etherealness to my existence!

I am a creature of the Fey Prepare to give your soul away My spell is passion and it is art My song can bind a human heart And if you chance to know my face My hold shall be your last embrace. I shall be thy lover... I am unlike a mortal lass From dreams of longing I have passed I came upon your lonely cries Revealed beauty to your eyes So shun the world that you have known And spend your nights within my own. I shall be thy lover... You shall be known by other men For your great works of voice and pen Yet inspiration has a cost For with me know your soul is lost I'll take your passion and your skill I'll take your young life quicker still. I shall be thy lover... Through the kisses that I give I draw from you that I will live And though you think this weakness grand The touch of death your lover's hand Your will to live has come too late Come to my arms and love this fate I shall be thy lover... I am a creature of the Fey Prepare to give your soul away My spell is passion and it is art My song can bind a human heart And if you chance to know my face My hold shall be your last embrace.

I am meant to be here; within your eye's ocean!

I am no writer. Her sparkling eyes made my fingers write words in the sand, Her radiant smile made my pen write words in the air. Her beautiful soul made my typewriter type poems for eternity. I am no writer.

I curled my lip at the sight of sizzling human hair and skin clinging to my demon flesh. Damn, I’d have given anything to be back in Boston, sipping chai tea latte." ~ Muse, Ties That Bind, #5 The Veil Series.

I do not write about love as if I have invented it. I write about love because thoughts of you inspire self-forgetfulness. And because writing about you gives birth to a star. These stars sit inside me where there was once darkness.

I do not have a problem with people killing themselves, as long as they took at least a hundred years to think about what they are about to do.

If there are princes involved, you should stay out of their way.” Jerry’s smile softened his hard-as-nails persona. “I wish I could.” I smiled my own half-hearted smile. “Maybe they should stay outta my way?” He chuckled, the sound of his laughter soft and delicious. “Maybe.

I found you in our truth. Running sideways for a broken muse who loved strangers as much as alcohol.

...If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum...

If only thy eyes flutter once, the bees lose their direction and the fighting men their aim!

I get a kick out of cursing people for life on Sundays.

If you have someone in your life who makes you feel loved and cared and inspires you then you are truly blessed!

If you hurt Muse, I will hunt you down, use every rusted weapon I own, cut off your precious parts and feed them to the hellhounds." Ryder

If you schlep a shit job everyday, keep and feed a little secret life--whether it's writing, art, running, music, your thoughts. It's yours.

I got to tell you, I think (deifying artists) was a huge error. You know, I think that allowing somebody…to believe that he or she is…the source of all divine, creative, unknowable, eternal mystery is just a smidge too much responsibility to put on one fragile, human psyche. It’s like asking somebody to swallow the sun. It just completely warps and distorts egos, and it creates all these unmanageable expectations about performance. And I think the pressure of that has been killing off our artists for the last 500 years.

I had to revise all my feelings once again. I pulled out the dregs of affection from the glass of misunderstanding to rebuild my faith. I had to reinvent the cause for love, as it were. It was something I had to draw inside me, a real portrait of her, not just the inspiration but the girl as a whole, with all her shortcomings to be able to love her again.

I know not what it is about you that makes me go crazy but I do know that the radiance in your eyes is more dazzling than that in all the diamonds of this world! And that the inimitable fragrance of your skin is more sublime than that of all the perfumes of this world!

I have not lived for millennia to be bested by a half-blood whore and her puppet prince." ~ Valenti

I know not what it is about you that makes me go crazy but I do know that the fragrance of your skin is more sublime than that of all the perfumes of this world!

I know not what it is about you that makes me go crazy but I do know that the radiance in your eyes is more dazzling than that in all the diamonds of this world!

Inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus. Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll.

I love that moment when she shyly asks me: Writer Sahab how are you?

I'm just a wretched half-blood girl caught in a storm." Akil tasted his wine and smiled. "Muse, you are the storm.

I love you till I die!

In Poems of Love and Light: The Light of The Sun…Our Breath as One, the tenor seems to have changed slightly, as the progression of Love and lovers is, in many cases (if not all) quixotic, dependent upon mutual understanding, the conditions of the moment, the awareness of the future, as well as the mundane life, in which we all must exist, embracing real life, as is the natural state, which sentient individuals traverse – illusion may help those in the ‘moment’, but does nothing for the long-term, except misdirect it. Poetry has always been a way to leave something for those who come after, a legacy of inspiration, methodology, spirit, love, emotion, historical sense and utility, depending upon the subject matter, intentions of the bard, and the situations, which frame the creation of that sense of experience, with which the Poet receives his Muse. Poems of Love and Light: In The Light of the Sun, Our Breath as One

In your arms I come alive... In your arms I drink nectar of life... In your arms I partake love... In your arms I truly live... In your arms I will truly die...

I remained with Lark in the hospital room until Aaron arrived out of breath from running. “My muse,” he said, taking her hand. Leaving them alone to prepare for the surgery, I walked into the waiting room. Cooper patted the chair next to him and I joined him. “She’ll be okay,” he said, sounding convincing. I didn’t feel like talking, so I texted Dylan, Harlow, Mom, and Dad to let them know what was happening. Cooper spoke quietly on the phone with Farah who was on her way with Tawny. First, Dick and Maryann arrived then Raven not long afterwards with Bailey. “We were shopping when you called,” Bailey announced as Raven hurried to Lark’s room. Joining her brother, Bailey tapped her foot and stared at the door. “How long will it take?” “Patience,” Cooper muttered then returned to talking with Farah. Bailey changed seats, so she was next to me. “Don’t be scared. Pixies are powerful creatures.” Smiling softly, I took Bailey’s hand and waited.

I see it, Jack. Your muse is back. The thing that gave you passion, tormented you, and haunted you is back. You're reeling in ecstasy and dread. It's something you want, but can't ever have. And the one that brings the pain is pure, white as snow... and standing in front of you.

I sat across the table from him and watched as he popped open the lid. “I gather you like ice cream?” An eyebrow twitched comically. “Snow demon.” He shrugged.

Masochists hold on to broken people. Artists hold on to broken memories.

I should’ve probably warned you: once you end a relationship with an artist, you are perpetually reminded of them. They have now ruined classical music and jazz for you. They have ruined books and poetry. You should just forget about galleries and museums. But you know what the worst part is? It’s how they witnessed and observed you, making you feel like the only person in the room. And you secretly loved being looked at, being worshipped. So now you avoid mirrors. Because when you look at yourself, you remember me.