Quotes About Imagination

For at least twenty minutes, she handed out the story.

Hänen ensimmäinen hyökkäyssuunnitelmansa oli sellainen, että hän istutti kotimaahansa sanoja mahdollisimman monille alueille. Hän istutti yötä päivää ja hoiti niitä. Han katseli niiden kasvua, kunnes lopulta kaikkialle oli kohonnut suuria sanametsiä...Saksa oli viljeltyjen ajatusten maa.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hands to touch.

Max, she said. He turned and briefly closed his eyes as the girl continued. 'There was once a strange, small man,' she said. Her arms were loose but her hands were fists at her side. But there was a word shaker, too.

Still, I walk on, through a dream that takes me through these pages. I

Diese Bilder waren die Welt, und es brodelte in ihr, während sie inmitten der schönen Bücher mit ihren manikürten Titeln saß. Es kochte in ihr, während sie die Seiten anschaute, die bis zum Erbrechen voll mit Absätzen und Worten waren. Ihr Mistkerle, dachte sie. Ihr geliebten Mistkerle.

It was one of the joys of childhood.

Every night, Liesel made her way down to the basement. She kept the book with her at all times. For hours, she wrote, attempting each night to complete ten pages of her life. There was so much to consider, so many things in danger of being left out. Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.

That's the beauty of books. In so many ways, they never really end.

the music would look Liesel in the face. I know it sounds strange, but that's how it felt to her.

I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbour. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

Por el momento, con la idea tenía suficiente. Era indestructible. Hacerla realidad... Bueno, eso ya era otro cantar.

From a Himmel Street window, he wrote, the star set fire to my eyes.

First the colours. Then the humans. That's how I normally see things. Or at least, how I try.

It's mostly readers of my books who come to be with us. The tours become an extension of the books. Guests want to see the places I write about. They want to be where we are. I guess they want also to feel what I feel. They want to step through a magic door.

The boy was twelve, reveling in the strange dust-smelling murk of a New Orleans library, watching motes flash gold in a beam of sun. He loved the ceiling lights on chains and the table lamps with their green glass shades. The room was as beautiful as another world.

The artist is always engaged in writing a detailed history of the future because he is the only person aware of the nature of the present.

The present is only faced in any generation by the artist.

Education must shift from instruction, from imposing of stencils, to discovery—to probing and exploration and to the recognition of the language of forms.

The secret of mastering creativity in any field is knowing how to work with metaphor without getting caught in language...

It was the sort of room that made you want to stand around in it and read for the rest of your life

it becomes a problem when we mistake the stories in our minds for The Truth.

Now hold up your left palm (you may have to put down this book for a minute) and picture your Wild Child there: 2 inches tall, dressed in skins and bark, covered with scars, waiting for an opportunity to escape or subvert the Dictator's brutal control. Watch until you can see them both clearly in your mind's eye.

I liked the imaginary people on the entertainment feed way more than I liked real ones, but you can't have one without the other.