I had a monumental idea this morning, but I didn't like it.

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the curious yet profound words of Samuel Goldwyn, titan of cinema and master of paradox, who once declared: “I had a monumental idea this morning, but I didn’t like it.” At first, these words may seem little more than a jest, a comic contradiction, one of those “Goldwynisms” for which he became famous. Yet beneath the surface of humor lies a deep truth about the nature of creativity, the fickleness of inspiration, and the restless heart of the visionary who is never fully satisfied with his own thoughts.

The meaning is woven in paradox. To call an idea “monumental” is to declare it great, weighty, and powerful. Yet to dismiss it in the same breath reveals the eternal struggle of the creative mind: what may appear brilliant at first glance may, upon reflection, prove unsatisfying, unworthy, or ill-fitting for the vision one seeks. Goldwyn reminds us that greatness in thought is not always found in the first spark. A monumental idea that does not resonate with the heart is no idea at all—it is a monument without foundation, towering but hollow.

The origin of these words lies in Goldwyn’s own life as a Hollywood mogul, a man whose empire was built not only on inspiration but on ruthless discernment. He was known to reject scripts, concepts, and pitches that others deemed promising, always in search of something that captured both truth and magic. His humor cloaked a serious wisdom: not every grand idea deserves to live. True creativity demands the courage not only to embrace inspiration but also to reject it when it does not align with the deeper vision.

This wisdom has echoed across history. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who left behind countless unfinished sketches, models, and half-born inventions. To others they seemed monumental, yet Leonardo, dissatisfied, let them remain incomplete. He understood that the greatness of an idea is not in its size, but in its harmony with truth and utility. His genius lay not only in creating but in knowing what to abandon. So too with Goldwyn: to reject a monumental idea is itself an act of greatness, for discernment is as vital as inspiration.

There is also humility in these words. Many chase after every grand idea, fearing to let go, but Goldwyn shows that the value of thought lies not in its appearance but in its resonance. To dismiss even one’s own monumental idea is to place truth above ego. It is to say, “Not everything that shines is gold, and not everything that rises high deserves to endure.” This humility guards the creator from arrogance, reminding us that discernment is as sacred as imagination.

The lesson for us, O listeners of tomorrow, is to question our inspirations. Do not fall in love with every idea simply because it seems grand. Instead, weigh it, test it, refine it, and be willing to let it go if it does not serve the higher purpose of your work or your life. For it is better to discard a monumental idea that does not fit than to build upon it and later watch it crumble. True strength lies in the ability to reject as well as to create.

Therefore, let Goldwyn’s words echo through your hearts: do not worship every monumental thought, but seek the right one, the true one. Laugh at the paradox, but learn from its wisdom. For in the end, creativity is not only the generation of ideas but the careful selection of them. And he who knows what to discard will always be greater than he who clings to every passing spark.

So let it be spoken, so let it be remembered: the monumental is not always the meaningful. Seek not size alone, but truth, beauty, and purpose. And when you awaken with a monumental idea that does not please your heart—rejoice, for you have practiced the highest art: the art of discernment.