Quotes About Imagination

It's all just in our heads." "Who cares if it's all in our heads?" Finally she looked at me, frowning. "Who cares?" I said. "Yes, it's all in my head. But pain is 'all in my head' too. Love is 'all in my head.' All the things that matter in life are the things you can't measure! The things our brains make up! Being made-up doesn't make them unimportant.

It was a nice dream, wasn't it, Syl?" he asked. "That we could escape? Find peace at long last?" "Such a wonderful dream," she whispered.

What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind." "What does the story mean, then?" "It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

I imagined those broken rocks as the broken bodies of my enemies, their bones shattered, their trembling arms reaching upward in a useless gesture of total and complete defeat. I was a very odd little girl.

Some people assume that authors write books because we have vivid imaginations and want to share our vision. Other people assume that authors write because we are bursting with stories, and therefore must scribble those stories down in moments of creative propondidty. Both groups of people are completely wrong. Authors write books for one, and only one, reason: because we like to torture people.

Imaginary things were often the only items of real substance in people's lives.

I was grown-up. I'd packed my own backpack and had left Bloodletter, my stuffed bear, at home. Stuffed bears were for babies, even if you'd fashioned your own mock power armor for yours out of string and broken ceramics.

I doubt any dragon ever had it so good anyway.

When you read a book, it's like you're becoming an actor, taking on the roles of a dozen different people, coming to know and love them like you know yourself. It's one of the best ways to experience another life, to become something that you are not.

Art is not art if it has a function.

You realize he's claiming to have been in the Olympics, she sent. But a leprechaun stole his medal.

A book lives a new life every time it is read.

Children in the future were going to insist my adventures were too outlandish—and therefore I wasn't an actual historical person, but one that was obviously made up, like Gilgamesh or David Bowie.

A bunny rabbit and a chick went frolicking in the grass together on a sunny day." "A chick . . . baby chicken?" Kaladin said. "And a what?" "Ah, forgot myself for a moment," Wit said. "Sorry. Let me make it more appropriate for you. A piece of wet slime and a disgusting crab thing with seventeen legs slunk across the rocks together on an insufferably rainy day. Is that better?

Without the glowing fruit, the place was as black as the inside of a can of black paint that had also been painted black.

Before the Wright brothers flew, flying was fantasy. Before the civil rights movement, people getting along together and the races being equal was a fantasy. Things change because we imagine a different world, a world that is not. And I think that imagination is one of the most important and defining aspects of human existence: our ability to imagine a world that is not.

He found himself weeping. Not for the future or for the emperor. These were the tears of a man who saw before himself a masterpiece. True art was more than beauty; it was more than technique. It was not just imitation. It was boldness, it was contrast, it was subtlety. In this book, Gaotona found a rare work to rival that of the greatest painters, sculptors, and poets of any era. It was the greatest work of art he had ever witnessed. Gaotona

Sparks. Good metaphor. Walking on crumpled tinfoil. I'd have to remember that one.

You should try using one of Brandon Sanderson's fantasy novels. They're big enough, and goodness knows that's really the only useful thing to do with them.

Wayne popped one in his mouth—candied bacon wrapped around a walnut. "How is it?" Wax asked. "Tastes like cotton candy," Wayne said, relishing the flavor, "made of baby.

I still think a grenade shouldn't be able to explode inward," I said, shaking sand off my clothing as I walked up to the window. "I mean, how would you even make that work?" "Maybe you take the same stuff you put in a regular grenade, then put it in backward?" "I Ã¢â'¬Â¦ don't think it works that way, Bastille.

If you wish to become a storyteller, here is a hint: sell your labor, but not your mind.

Lately, she'd been having trouble picturing him. She could perfectly remember a picture of him, hanging above the mansion's hearth. But him? That wasn't so easy, though she loved him. That is not so odd an occurrence. A picture is an object, easy to define and contain, while a person is a soul—and is therefore neither of those things.

Though in this genre we write about the fantastic, the stories work best when there is solid grounding in our world. Magic works best for me when it aligns with scientific principles. Worldbuilding works best when it draws from sources in our world. Characters work best when they're grounded in solid human emotion and experience.