Quotes About Imagination

There was once a king's son. Nobody had so many or such beautiful books as he had. He could read about everything which had ever happened in the world, and see it all represented in the most beautiful pictures.

The right sort (of story) come of themselves: they tap at my forehead and say 'Here we are.

Behind each petal of the rose he had a tiny bedroom. Oh, how fragrant his rooms were, and how bright and transparent the walls, for they were the beautiful pale pink petals of the rose! All day long the little elf rejoiced in the warm sunshine as he flew from flower to flower or danced on the wings of the fluttering butterflies...

Life is a faerytale written by God's hand.

At his next visit he fancied he must have got into a narrow needlecase, full of sharp needles: "Oh," thought he, "this must be the heart of an old maid;" but such was not the fact;

Hans Christian Andersen

Das ist eine schöne Blume!" sagte die Frau und küßte sie auf die herrlichen roten und gelben Blätter, aber wie sie sie noch küßte, that die Blume einen großen Knall und öffnete sich. Es war, wie man nun sehen konnte, eine wirkliche Tulpe; aber mitten in der Blüte, auf dem grünen Blumengriffel, saß ein winzig kleines, blondlockiges Mädchen, fein und lieblich. Sie war nicht größer als ein Daumen, und deswegen wurde

Los cuentos son para dormir a los niños y despertar a los adultos.

Si puedes dibujar y pintar- pensó el niño-, entonces tienes el mundo en tus manos

Hans Christian Andersen

Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale

Hans Christian Andersen

Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the fir tree. "What is the sea, and what does it look like?" "It would take too much time to explain," said the stork, flying quickly away. "Rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam, "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and the young life that is in thee.

Hans Christian Andersen

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year . . . No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.

came to anything, very remarkable; and there they are for you. So saying, he gave Joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole—and to Knud the broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the story, that they had not the heart to eat the

Hans Christian Andersen

I used to wonder why Lucy liked those songs so much. You know what I mean? She sits in the dark and listens and cries. Music does that to her...I didn't understand for a long time. But I do now. The sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.

Sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.

The sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.

Esperanza's side had so many colors, Crayola sent a scout.

Myron, Win, and Esperanza lay sprawled on separate couches like Dalí clocks.

The danger of video games was that they shut the world out. The beauty of video games was that they shut the world out. Sally

Memories are something we reconstruct and piece together. They are fragments we manufacture to create what we think occurred or even simply hope to be true. In short, our memories are rarely accurate. They are biased reenactments.