Quotes About Imagination

He never retorted that the artist is not a bricklayer at all, but a horseman whose business it is to catch Pegasus at once, not to practise for him by mounting tamer colts. This is hard, hot and generally ungraceful work, but it is not drudgery. For drudgery is not art, and cannot lead to it.

He has dreams—not exactly spiritual dreams: but dreams of the tangible and the actual: robust dreams, which take him, not to heaven, but another earth.

The work of art assumes the existence of the perfect spectator and is indifferent to the fact that no such person exists.

The sky, you know, was gold, and the ground all blue, and for a moment he looked like some one in a book.

It is the vice of a vulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square mile, and that a million square miles are almost the same as heaven. That is not imagination. No, it kills it.

Look at this evening. Cousin Kate! Imagine, Cousin Kate! But where have you been off to? Did you succeed in catching the moon in the Ganges?

Indeed, he was sensitive rather than responsive. In every remark he found a meaning, but not always the true meaning, and his life, though vivid, was largely a dream.

You only care about the things that you can use, and therefore arrange them in the following order: Money, supremely useful; intellect, rather useful; imagination, of no use at all.

You've not been content to dream, as we have.

sky. Those elms were Dryads—so Rickie believed or pretended, and the line between the two is subtler than we admit.

She was so quick, so clear-headed, so imaginative even. But all the same, she had forgotten what people were like. Finding life dull, she had dropped lies into it, as a chemist drops a new element into a solution, hoping that life would thereby sparkle or turn some beautiful colour.

There was no common topic. Mrs. Wilcox, whose life had been spent in the service of husband and sons, had little to say to strangers who had never shared it, and whose age was half her own. Clever talk alarmed her, and withered her delicate imaginings; it was the social counterpart of a motor-car, all jerks, and she was a wisp of hay, a flower.

The ideal scientist thinks like a poet and only later works like a bookkeeper.

when I don't have anything to read, I feel like a tortoise without a shell or a boat without an anchor. There is nothing to hide under. Nowhere to stop and rest. When I don't have a book, there is nowhere good or interesting to be, there is nobody to care about, nothing to hope for, and nothing to puzzle over. When I do have something to read, it keeps me breathing. It's the reward for all the other things. It's the think to look forward to, the reason for doing my day.

Whatever we plant in our subconscious mind and nourish with repetition and emotion will one day become a reality.

Picture yourself in your minds eye as having already achieved this goal. See yourself doing the things you'll be doing when you've reached your goal.

You'll find boredom where there is the absence of a good idea

You'll find boredom where there is an absence of a good idea.

Your world is a living expression of how you are using and have used your mind.

Whatever we plant in our subconscious mind and nourish with repetition and emotion will one day become reality.

You are now, and you do become, what you think about.

Everything begins with an idea.

Everything you and I will ever have will come to us as the result of the way we use our minds, the one thing we possess that makes us different from all other creatures.

You are what you think about.