Chryseis Greek Quotes & Sayings

I mean, what do you think creativity is? Nothing but self-indulgence. And the more self-indulgent it is, the more interesting it becomes. So I think that part of creativity is also falling in love with your own narcissism: accepting it, using it as an asset. — Nicolas Winding Refn

Those skilled at making the enemy move do so by creating a situation to which he must conform; they entice him with something he is certain to take, and with lures of ostensible profit they await him in strength. — Sun Tzu

We need to ascend beyond our own petty Resistance, our own negative self-judgment and self-sabotage, our own "I'm not worthy" mind-set. — Steven Pressfield

No hero is above fear. — Rick Riordan

Some people underestimate how erotic it is to be understood. — Mary Rakow

Propaganda has a bad name, but its root meaning is simply to disseminate through a medium, and all writing therefore is propaganda for something. It's a seeding of the self in the consciousness of others. — Elizabeth Drew

Listening to soft music and the sound of the ocean is quite relaxing to me. — LaToya Jackson

Who am I? Flying, I live,
and sometimes I make songs:
flower songs, butterflies of songs -
such as reveal my sentiments,
such as express my heart.

I arrive at the side of others. I descend
and alight on earth, the red macaw of spring.
I stretch my wings beside the flower drums,
my song lifts and spreads over the earth. — Peter Everwine

Killing me still on the agenda, tough girl?"
I walked over to the desk. "Yup, right here next to buy Brendan a leash."
"Glad to know you have a sense of humour."
"I wasn't joking." I mumbled, knowing he would be able to hear me. — Elizabeth Morgan

I felt I was in the loneliest place in the world, and I was apprehensive. Nothing could be heard except the occasional crash of an unknown creature in the forest, and, once in awhile, a deep thrumming similar to the lowest barely audible sound of a string bass. I was standing alone in 1972 in a semi-ruined lighthouse that my wife, fifteen-year-old daughter, and I had just purchased. The lighthouse was located atop a 200-foot cliff on an island a dozen miles from the Lake Superior shoreline. I was separated from the nearest human being by an unknown but surely great distance, and had hiked several hours through the forest to reach the place, following the path of an old road that once led to the lighthouse but was now no longer passable with a vehicle. The low rumble I occasionally heard, straddling the lowest limit of my auditory range, was caused by an occasional large wave entering a cavern below the lighthouse and resonating in the stony echo chamber. — Loren Graham