Quotes About Imagination

Opening up their sack, the children chorus, "Oh Snowman, what have we found?" They lift out the objects, hold them up as if offering them for sale: a hubcap, a piano key, a chunk of pale-green pop bottle smoothed by the ocean. A plastic BlyssPluss container, empty; a ChickieNobs Bucket O'Nubbins, ditto. A computer mouse, or the busted remains of one, with a long wiry tail.

By telling you anything at all I'm at least believing in you, I believe you're there, I believe you into being. Because I'm telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are.

Watch out for art, Crake used to say. As soon as they start doing art, we're in trouble.

Storytelling is not a luxury to humanity; it's almost as necessary as bread. We cannot imagine ourselves without it, because the self is a story.

It was only a dream. It was only a larval poem. —

The ability to concoct plausible lies is a talent not to be underestimated

You create your own world by your inner attitude, the Gardeners used to say.

Arms up in the air now; let's pretend we're trees.

Forbidden things are open to the imagination. That was why Eve ate the Apple of Knowledge, said Aunt Vidala: too much imagination. So it was better not to know some things. Otherwise your petals would get scattered.

I had nightmares myself. Shall I describe on for you? No, I will not....When push comes to shove, only one's own nightmares are of any interest or significance. Last night I had a nightmare....You are of course fully in control of what you choose to read, and may pass over this dream of mine at will.

He has tried imagining her as a prostitute—he often plays this private mental game with various women he encounters—but he can't picture any man actually paying for her services. It would be like paying to be run over by a wagon, and would be, like that experience, a distinct threat to the health.

In reduced circumstances you have to believe all kinds of things.

History, as I recall, was never this winsome, and especially not this clean, but the real thing would never sell: most people prefer a past in which nothing smells.

I will say you ... You can mean more than one. You can mean thousands. I'm not in immediate danger, I'll say to you. I'll pretend you can hear me. But its no good, because I know you can't.

I wish I had a pig ball.

Writing poetry is a state of free float

How easy it is to invent humanity, for anyone at all. What an available temptation.

I locate you on streets, in cities I've never seen, you walk against a background crowded with lifelike detail which crumbles and turns grey when I look too closely.

you appear without prelude midway between my eyes and the nearest trees, your colours bright, your outline flattened suspended in the air with no more reason for occurring exactly here than this billboard, this highway or that cloud.

Calling a piece of short fiction a "tale" removes it at least slightly from the realm of mundane works and days, as it evokes the world of the folk tale, the wonder tale, and the long-ago teller of tales.

I write as if I've lived a lot of things I haven't lived..

On my Tree of Paradise, I intend to put a border of snakes entwined; they will look like vines or just a cable pattern to others, as I will make the eyes very small, but they will be snakes to me; as without a snake or two, the main part of the story would be missing.

He will exist for her at least, he will be created by her, he will have a place in her mythology after all.

Who are you, my reader? And when are you? Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps fifty years from now, perhaps never.