Quotes About Imagination

How to live as divided cells — voilà! Something always eludes the scientists, the poets, the stargazers, the biologists, the anthropologists. Something eludes the informers, detectives, police, lawyers. It is the dream. And what lies in the deformed mirrors of the dream and haunts our sleep is the secret of everything.

Eu sunt femeia care ofer? iluzie, care primeÅŸte imaginaÅ£ia b?rbatului. O situaÅ£ie pe care târfa o invidiaz?... Târfa domneÅŸte în realitate.

I have decided that if analysis is a hothouse, a hastening of wisdom and growth, nevertheless the life experience must be actually lived out and through, completely, in spite of it; everything that is lived out in the imagination is poison.

I am not always just living, just following all my fantasies; I come up for air, for understanding.

I will be the one woman you will never have . . . excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails.

He has made me lucid and sane, and I am suffering cruelly from the loss of my imaginary life.

I am very near to madness. I imagine my isolation, and I go mad inside, a delirium of doubts and fears.

Ordinary life does not interest me.

Perhaps I have loved the artist because creation is the nearest we come to divinity.

But we were lonely. we had nobody to play with. The gay child, the inventive child, the spirited and wild child, was lonely.

Yet my friend Natasha [Troubetskoia]† swears that Dostoevsky was a great liar and you could hardly find a Nastasia, an "idiot," or a Stavrogin in Russia.

Films are like a dose of opium, then as you come out in the street it's a shock, and you are brutally awakened from your dream. But when you stay, you never wake up. The dream goes on working. I would fall asleep for a while and then see images on the screen, and I could not tell the difference between the film and a dream.

There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.

There is a spiral, in you, and in your books. Rich, richer than any writer or man yet known to me. You only need to do enough thinking to know where you are going, that is all.

I had a sense of preparation for a love to come. Like the extension of canopies, the unrolling of ceremonial carpets, as if I must first create a marvelous world in which to house it, in which to receive adequately this guest of honor.

What I corrupted is what is called the truth in favour of a more marvellous world.

I have dreamed of that over and over—I dancing with you, or you alone dancing with head thrown back and eyes half shut.

As if rising with her in his gyroscope of fantasy he took her to visit his collection of empty cages.

Sabina placed The Firebird on the phonograph. The delicate footsteps of the Firebird were heard at first through infinite distance, each step rousing the phosphorescent sparks from the earth, each note a golden bugle to marshal delight. A jungle of dragon tails thrashing in erotic derisions, a brazier of flesh-smoking prayers, the multiple debris of the stained glass fountains of desire.

For the first time I have conquered restlessness, my imagination does not wander to all the far places towards all the far strangers, questing, expecting what? For the first time my body and soul are together, and the sound of a window closing, a door closing, is no more alarming than the wings of an icon closing over a figure praying.

Cuando te embriaga un sentimiento, no importa cuál sea (ella está ahora ebria de un sentimiento imaginado), dejas de ver la realidad o la fealdad.

Yo estoy rebosante de amor hacia ella. Y al mismo tiempo siento que me estoy muriendo. Nuestro amor sería la muerte. El abrazo de las imaginaciones.

Las dos hemos perdido la cabeza –le dije–, pero a veces cuando más cosas revelamos de nosotros mismos menos somos nosotros mismos. Yo ya no intento pensar. Cuando estoy contigo me es imposible. Tú eres como yo, esperando que se presente el momento perfecto, aunque nada de lo que se ha imaginado durante demasiado tiempo puede llegar a ser perfecto en un sentido terrenal.

Mi mente no debe morir porque soy escritora. Soy el poeta que necesita ver.