Quotes About Imagination

Even stories need a chance to sleep.

I've always believed that as an author, I do 50% of the work of storytelling, and the reader does the other 50%. There's no way I can control the story you tell yourself from my book. Your own experiences, preferences, prejudices, mood at the moment, current events in your life, needs and wants influence how you read my every word.

Ani told them all...telling more than needed telling, the stories clarifying and unifying themselves in her mind as she let them spill out of her mouth.

Without hope, it was impossible to fantasize.

Raven heard a crunch. "Maddie!" said Raven. "You're not supposed to eat the stone." "Why not?" said Maddie. "It's delightfully crunchy." "How do you even do that?" Raven asked. "I mean, it's a rock." Maddie shrugged. "Sometimes things aren't impossible the first time I try, because I don't know they're impossible yet. I probably couldn't do it again, though.

Over there!" "Where?" Enna asked in mock panic "Do you see something?

That year, when the trees burned the fire of late summer into their leaves and the ground mist was a ghost of the river, long and wet and cold, the aunt looked from her windows to the walls around her and imagined another winter inside them. She began to see the world as a bird sees bars, and she scratched her arms beneath her sleeves.

Ease up, nasty little frigid pixies

So she tried all the magical passwords she could think of. "Abracadabra. Open sesame. Sim salabim. Alakazam. Hocus pocus. Voilà. Please.

Listen to this," said Maddie. "Cerise Hood. Cedar Wood. Cerise Hood. Cedar Wood. Cedar, you and Cerise have to be friends or your names will get mad and just march right off you!

15. "Master Filippus believes that three disciplines define us as humans," Miri said while they walked to the peat pits. "History, Philosophy, and Poetry. History is human memory, the examination of what came before us. Philosophy is human reason, or an attempt to make sense of what is. Poetry is human imagination, seeking to express what is, even while dreaming of what might be. History, Philosophy, and Poetry—that's what sets humans apart from animals.

I want to be happy. I used to want Mr. Darcy, laugh at me if you want, or the idea of him. Someone who made me feel all the time like I felt when I watched those movies.

NASA's next urgent mission should be to send good poets into space so they can describe what it's really like." --Dangerous by Shannon Hale

Briar thrust a crystal cup with a silver spoon into Apple's hands. "Whipped air. Try it. Totally invisible and totally good." Apple dipped the spoon into the empty cup and touched it to her tongue. The nothingness tasted like chocolate-raspberry swirl. "Mm, this is amazing.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

We see the surface, blue or silver or gray, and waves hitting the shore. But we know there's so much we can't see, so what we love about it becomes in part what we imagine it is hiding.

Perhaps I'm just afraid of the uncertainty to come. When I'm moving on a journey, the ending is still unknown and possibly wonderful. But once I arrive, it's hard to keep imagining.

What a noise we'll make among the drab and dull, how we'll...wait, I want more green. I hope I did not imply I only wanted your colors. We can't turn a cold shoulder to green, and blue, and purple, for the sake of all ordered things, hour can you dismiss purple? Call [him] back and tell him off my need of purple!

What a noise we'll make among the drab and dull, how we'll...wait, I want more green. I hope I did not imply I only wanted your colors. We can't turn a cold shoulder to green, and blue, and purple, for the sake of all ordered things, how can you dismiss purple? Call [him] back and tell him of my need of purple!

Martin of Sheffield, Age Twenty-Nine He kissed her like she knew she was meant to be kissed. He smelled of gardens, tricked her brain into believing she was irresistible, and made the idea of falling in love seem possible again. But really he was an actor posing as a gardener, who posed as a gentleman during balls in an Austenland estate where she'd gone to find out if she could let her fantasy of Mr. Darcy die at last. Seriously. Also, he turned out to be a jackass.

entered the library, and could do nothing but stare in wonder...She wondered if she should curtsy as if she were entering a chapel.

Wonderland, Maddie had yet to see

She believed now in earnest that fantasy is not practice for what is real—fantasy is the opiate of women.

If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.