Quotes About Imagination

Dreams, after all, are insubstantial things, like mist itself.

One of the great things about tales is how fast time may pass when not much of note is happening. Real life is never that way, and it is probably a good thing.

The quickest way to learn about a new place is to know what it dreams of.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

The sun was a molten coin burning a circle in the low-hanging overcast, surrounded by a fairy-ring of moisture.

I think all worlds are magic. We just get used to it.

Fiction is a lie. And GOOD fiction is the truth inside the lie.

Go, then, there are other worlds than these.' 

In the years since, I've discovered there's a lot to be said for boredom.

Close your eyes and click your heals three times...because there's no place like Dome.

We rarely get what we imagine in this world.

They'll float, it growled, they float, Georgie, and when you're down here with me, you'll float, too-

Kids, fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists. S.K.

The dream didn't fade as dreams usually do upon waking.

The object of fiction isn't grammatical correctness but to make the reader welcome and then tell a story.... Writing is seduction. Good talk is part of seduction.

Dreams are the psyche's way of taking a good dump every now and then. And that people who dream - or don't dream in a way they can often remember when they wake up - are mentally constipated in some way.

I've spread my legs in the backseat in a creative sense quite a few times.

The horrors of the Inquisition are nothing compared to the fates your mind can imagine for your loved ones.

I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe.

I looked at what he built, and to me it explained the stars.

What if there were no grownups? Suppose the whole idea of grownups was an illusion? What if their money was really just playground marbles, their business deals no more than baseball-card trades, their wars only games of guns in the park? What if they were all still snotty-nosed kids inside their suits and dresses? Christ, that couldn't be, could it? It was too horrible to think about.

Things were going very fast now. Too fast to suit him. Fantasy and reality had merged.

he was after all, a novelist...and a novelist was simply a fellow who got paid to tell lies. The bigger the lies, the better the pay.

Dreams age faster than dreamers.