Quotes About Imagination

Your thoughts and feelings create ways of your life that you dream.

Anything man can imagine is a possibility in reality

If the young cannot harbor great dreams in their souls, who can?

Small white clouds floated in the blue sky above, and on the street a flute vendor was playing the flute - a sharp, soft, sinuous, Oriental tune that twisted and turned in the ear like embroidery, like a picture of a dream in a novel, a trail of white mist coming out from under the bed curtain and unfurling all sorts of images, slowly uncoiling like a lazy snake, till finally the drowsiness is just too great, and even the dream falls asleep.

Children often have imaginary playmates. I suspect that half of them are really their guardian angels.

jungle seemed to leap out at Brian in a Technicolor

Don't let's ask for the moon, we have the stars.

Who doesn't envy a child's endless sense of things. Not that they have it but it's what they feel. It's what we're born to know. A sensation of being unhampered by anything except adults.

The bag I wanted was beyond reason - something to hold my poems, twice as big as the universe and it must be androgynous.

You pulled one story from your head, and another story popped up in its place, like tissues from a box.

elle rêve pendant qu'un incendie couve en son âme.

I wonder how Mr. Brinks would react if I told him my doctor was the surftastic cameraman he fist-bumped earlier in the week.

springs from their own imaginations.

A painting to me is primarily a verb, not a noun, an event first and only secondarily an image.

Every artist returns to things. The drawings that you make as a child or as an adolescent and the ideas that you have as a young beginning artist, no doubt they crop up again and again.

I find I always have to write something on a steamed mirror.

I love you. If you hadn't existed I would have had to invent you.

When passing a certain field near the railroad tracks John Allen Cooke, a black former truck driver, often points to it saying: "This is where I used to see Elvis laying around. Killing time. He was real quiet. Thinking about his music, I guess...

The more I see of the world the more I realize how much we are haunted by our childhood dreams.

Devoid of the poetry of madness.

The brain is a commodity used to fertilize ideas.

Heaven: the Coney Island of the Christian imagination.

Who of those born in future generations will believe this? I myself who saw it can hardly believe that such was possible.

What lies on the edge of perception, from where anything might come moving in?