“Art builds upon art, builds upon art…nothing is purely original. We’re all inspired by something…or someone. It’s a never-ending chain of ideas…and it’s magical.”

“Voll Blüten steht der Pfirsichbaum nicht jede wächst zur Frucht sie schimmern hell wie Rosenschaum durch Blau und Wolkenflucht. Wie Blüten geh’n Gedanken auf hundert an jedem Tag — lass’ blühen, lass’ dem Ding den Lauf frag’ nicht nach dem Ertrag! Es muss auch Spiel und Unschuld sein und Blütenüberfluss sonst wär’ die Welt uns viel zu klein und Leben kein Genuss.”

“What should be boundless is one’s love of life, not one’s love of art or knowledge.”

“Most ideas are born and lost in isolation.”

“Ah yes, the head is full of books. The hard part is to force them down through the bloodstream and out through the fingers.”

“The right idea at the right time is like a dandelion…You may hack it down, but you only spread the seeds abroad.”

“Success shuns the man who lacks ideas.”

“An artist without ideas is a mendicant; barren, he goes begging among the hours.”

“Every field of knowledge is different, but they are all connected. And they often rhyme. This means that something in the way you describe your process may give me a crucial insight or catalyze a new thought in me. This is how ideas form when we spark off each other.”

“But that initial, comet-blazing-across-the-sky, Big Idea is only the beginning. Each book is composed of a mosaic of thousands of little ideas, ideas that invariably come to me at two in the morning when my alarm is set for seven.”

“There’s a kid or some kids somewhere. I’ll never know them. They’re particle-puzzle-cubing right now. They might be mini-misanthropes from Moosefart, Montana. They might be demi-dystopians from Dogdick, Delaware. They dig my demonic dramas. The metaphysic maims them. They grasp the gravity. They’ll duke it out with their demons. They’ll serve a surfeit of survival skills. They won’t be chronologically crucified.They’ll shore up my shit. They’ll radically revise it. They’ll pass it along.”

“We need affection and tenderness to grow more than knowledge and ideas.”

“James’s critical genius comes out most tellingly in his mastery over, his baffling escape from, Ideas; a mastery and an escape which are perhaps the last test of a superior intelligence. He had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it. […] In England, ideas run wild and pasture on the emotions; instead of thinking with our feelings (a very different thing) we corrupt our feelings with ideas; we produce the public, the political, the emotional idea, evading sensation and thought. […] James in his novels is like the best French critics in maintaining a point of view, a view-point untouched by the parasite idea. He is the most intelligent man of his generation.”(Little Review, 1918)”