Quotes About Imagination

What mattered was that the room over the junk-shop should exist. To know that it was there, inviolate, was almost the same as being in it. The room was a world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk.

Era uno de esos ensueños que, a pesar de utilizar toda la escenografía onírica habitual, son una continuación de nuestra vida intelectual y en los que nos damos cuenta de hechos e ideas que siguen teniendo un valor después del despertar.

Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at the moment of climax.

Se volessi» aveva detto O'Brien, «potrei sollevarmi da questo pavimento come una bolla di sapone.» Winston sviluppò e risolse il senso di quest'affermazione: Se lui pensa di potersi sollevare in volo e contemporaneamente io penso di vederglielo fare, allora questa cosa accade. D'un tratto, come un rottame sommerso che emerge dall'acqua, gli affiorò alla mente questo pensiero: Ma non accade veramente, siamo noi che l'immaginiamo. È un'allucinazione.

When these images clash—as in The Fascist octupus has sung its swan song, the jackboot is thrown into the melting pot—it can be taken as certain that the writer is not seeing a mental image of the objects he is naming; in other words he is not really thinking.

In the quiet back streets of Lérida and Barbastro I seemed to catch a momentary glimpse, a sort of far-off rumour of the Spain that dwells in everyone's imagination. White sierras, goatherds, dungeons of the Inquisition, Moorish palaces, black winding trains of mules, grey olive trees and groves of lemons, girls in black mantillas, the wines of Málaga and Alicante, cathedrals, cardinals, bull-fights, gypsies, serenades—in short, Spain.

Tudo acontece na mente. O que quer que aconteça em todas as mentes, acontece de fato.

Only child life is real life.

Winston woke up with the word Shakespeare on his lips.

Wszystko dzieje si? w g?owie. A co dzieje si? w g?owach wszystkich, dzieje si? naprawd?.

scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?

Good novels are written by people who are not frightened.

It is a commonplace that the Christian Heaven, as usually portrayed, would attract nobody.

beyond that, only his own secret imaginings, founded on a dream. He

Ä°nsan?n istediÄŸi biçimde içinde yaÅŸamay? sürdürebileceÄŸi gizli bir dünya yaratabileceÄŸine inan?yordu.

Y, ¡sí!, ocurrió casi como en un sueño. Casi con la misma habilidad que había imaginado, se quitó la ropa y la arrojó a un lado con aquel gesto majestuoso que parecía aniquilar a toda una civilización

The creation of virtual worlds had taken the place of advances in the physical world. "You can say the whole Internet has something very escapist to it

Parsons' story reassures us that at the heart of all scientific advances is the imagination—that what we perceive as perverse eccentricities can be the key to important breakthroughs.

Child of the Blessing, who sees not what is, but sees what is not, and seeing thus what is not, imagines also what may be.

He who draws noble delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life.

The artist vocation is to send light into the human heart.

She discovered that a great deal of the suffering in this world is due not so much to original sin, but to a kind of original stupidity, an unimaginative, stubborn stupidity.

La vie ressemble plus souvent à un roman qu'un roman ne ressemble à la vie. (Life resembles a novel more often than novels resemble life.)

I loved [fairy stories] so, and my mother weighed down by grief had given up telling me them. At Nohant I found Mmes. d'Ardony's and Perrault's tales in old editions which became my chief joy for five or six years ... I've never read them since, but I could tell each tale straight through, and I don't think anything in all one's intellecutal life can be compared to these delights of imagination.