Quotes About Imagination

The Feegles believe that they are dead. This world is so nice, they argue, that they must have been really good in a past life and then died and ended up here. Appearing to die here means merely going back to the Last World, which they believe is rather dull.

You are aware, are you, that painting a few stars on a perfectly ordinary broomstick doesn't mean it will get airborne?

There are now, to the delight of parasitical writers like me, what I might almost call "public domain" plot items. There are dragons, and magic users, and far horizons, and quests, and items of power, and weird cities. There's the kind of scenery that we would have had on earth if only God had had the money.

Drunkenness had this to be said for it, it stopped the flow of inspirations.

Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could still see the God of Evolution beaming so happily as the cockroach stirred.

WILL THERE BE A MOVIE, THEN? Neil likes to think that one day maybe there will, and Terry is certain that it will never happen. In either case, neither of them will believe it until they're actually eating popcorn at the premiere. And even then, probably not.

Many worlds are iron, at the core. But the Discworld is as coreless as a pancake. On the Disc, if you enchant a needle it will point to the Hub, where the magical field is strongest. It's simple. Elsewhere, on worlds designed with less imagination, the needle turns because of the love of iron.

Live in dreams for too long and ye go mad—ye can never wake up prop'ly, ye can never get the hang o' reality again.

Don't worry! On another Earth it already happened'

The Fool held his breath. On long nights on the hard flagstones he had dreamed of women like her. Although, if he really thought about it, not much like her; they were better endowed around the chest, their noses weren't so red and pointed, and their hair tended to flow more. But the Fool's libido was bright enough to tell the difference between the impossible and the conceivably attainable, and hurriedly cut in some filter circuits.

You're hearing things said the voice in Rincewind's head.

There is a phrase neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring. This thing was all of them, plus some other bits of beasts unknown to science or nightmare or even kebab. There was certainly some red, and a lot of flapping, and Nutt was sure he caught a glimpse of an enormous sandal...

Susan's gotta poker, you know, it said, as if anxious to be helpful. WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME. I fort- thought all of you knew that now. Larst- last week she picked up a bogey by its nose. Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he'd heard the sentence wrong, but it didn't sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words.

Young Sam looked solemn for a moment and then said, I think I'll let Mr. Whistle do the being scared and then it won't bother me.

Do my thoughts just dream of me?

I told you Imo made many worlds. I told you that sometimes I think I can see a little way into the world where the wave did not happen. Well, now you will get onto that ship, or... you won't. Whatever you choose, your choice will mean there are two new worlds. And perhaps sometimes, on the edge of sleep, we will see the shadow of the other world. There will be no unhappy memories.

Contrary to popular belief, fantasy is not about making things up. The world is stuffed full of things. It is almost impossible to invent any more. No, the role of fantasy as defined by G. K. Chesterton is to take what is normal and everyday and usual and unregarded, and turn it around and show it to the audience from a different direction, so that they look at it once again with new eyes.

Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves.

My mother didn't like to hear profanity, and she certainly never spoke it. She had always told us that swearing was the sign of a lackluster vocabulary and, worse, a stunted imagination. There are so many interesting words to use, along or in combination, she said, that I don't know why anyone would fall back on one-syllable obscenities.

Creativity involves breaking out of established patterns in order to look at things in a different way.

The mind creates those things that exist.

Is this the curse of modernity, to live in a world without judgment, without perspective, no context for understanding or distinguishing what is real and what is imagined, what is manipulated and what is by chance beautiful, what is shadow and what is flesh?

Myths have a way of bringing what is unconscious to the surface and putting a face on what we cannot see.

How do we remain faithful to our own spiritual imagination and not betray what we know in our own bodies? The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy.