Quotes About Imagination

The painter, Edouard Manet, once observed: "There are no lines in nature, only areas of color, one against another.

If, however, we try to draw these mental images, we quickly realize that we don't have nearly enough information about shape, proportion, contour, or texture to do the job with much precision or character.

St. Philip Neri: Imagine yourselves to be spiritual beggars in the presence of God and his saints. You should go round from saint to saint, imploring an alms with the same real earnestness with which the poor beg.

Real painter understand with a brush in their hand.

A memória da humanidade para o sofrimento passado é surpreendentemente curta. Sua imaginação para o sofrimento futuro é ainda menor. É contra esta insensibilidade que devemos lutar. Porque a humanidade está ameaçada pelas guerras daqueles que pereceram no passado sob tentativas miseráveis, que, sem dúvida, se repetirão, se as mãos de quem as tornou públicas não forem esmagadas.

Order, unity and continuity are human inventions just as truly as catalogues and encyclopedias.

The mind is a strange machine which can combine the materials offered to it in the most astonishing ways.

What we remember is probably fiction anyway.

To me in my childhood, elves and fairies of all sorts were very real things, and my dolls were as really children as I was myself a child.

You have to dream things out. It keeps a kind of an ideal before you. You see it first in your mind and then you set about to try to make it like the ideal. If you want a garden,-why, I guess you've got to dream a garden.

Will laughed. 'You're quite a dreamer, Abbie-girl.' Abbie did not laugh. She was suddenly very sober. 'You have to, Will.' She said it a little vehemently. 'You have to dream things out. It keeps a kind of ideal before you.

And of course, everybody thinks it's just like it used to be when the Indians jazzed around and played 'You're it' with arrows.

The whole period seemed to come alive to her sensitive imagination,--the people of the times, substantial and courageous, walked and talked with her. For the first time she was sensing to-day a romance in her own Midwest, a glamour over the lives of her own people. She wished she could hold to her heart the fleeting sensation until she could get pencil and paper. She wished she could catch it and hold it between the covers of a book.

How can I explain it to you, so you would understand? I've seen everything . . . and I've hardly been away from this yard. I've seen cathedrals in the snow on the Lombardy poplars. I've seen the sun set behind the Alps over there when the clouds have been piled up on the edge of the prairie. I've seen the ocean billows in the rise and the fall of the prairie grass.

Well. I don't suppose you have to believe in ghosts to know that we are all haunted, all of us, by things we can see and feel and guess at, and many more things that we can't.

What I loved about the acting class was that you got to think all day long about a person that wasn't you, and figure out why they were sad and what they wanted, what they dreamed.

Books became my life, or maybe I should say books became the way I escaped from my life.

Bøkene ble mitt liv, eller kanskje jeg heller skulle si at bøkene hjalp meg å flykte fra mitt liv.

Step out from behind the words. When you're a writer you can imagine that the words speak for you and are you, but they're not. You are this living breathing bad hair day kind of person.

Here's another change I've noticed: The dark is more than the sun dropping off, more than the moon and the stars. It's what you can't see that you hope you will see, what hasn't been that might be.

When I was a boy, that was all I wanted—to grow a pair of wings and get up into the sky. I had a basement full of failed wing projects. Boards and capes and motors, even a pile of found feathers I once tried to glue together with a bottle of Elmer's; you should have seen your grandmother's face. But I never got any higher than the backyard fence I'd launch from. I never got inside a cloud. Your raven did.

Explain little. Evoke all.

Use your imagination as an arrow hurtling back toward what might have been or will never be.

Everybody always wants to be a mermaid