Quotes About Imagination

I didn't re-create the abbey from my recollection, but from the earth's elephantine memory.

My imagination has always topped anything a movie could come up with. Case in point, those darned Harry Potter movies. That was so not what that part-Veela-chick, Fleur Delacour, looked like.

Never had the mortal woman lived and breathed who could say no to a bit of fairy tail.   Gabby

I love books, by the way, way more than movies. Movies tell you what to think. A good book lets you choose a few thoughts for yourself.

Have fun playing with your artefacts.

What were her abilities? She played the pianoforte passably well even though it didn't interest her. She loved to read and could spend the rest of her life in a library. She'd written a book, and her imagination was such that she could transport herself from the wilds of Scotland to anywhere.

She kept her nose in a book and her head in the clouds.

Rachel, on the other hand, always had her nose in a book and her head in the clouds.

Raffy has this magical, abracadabrical ability to transform all his "ifs" into "whens".

You small mortals don't realize the power of your stories.

I think something more mysterious might be happening, less articulate than any of the captioned and numeraled drawings in the 'The Spiritist's Telegraph.' Mothers burning inside the risen suns of their children.

I dropped the candies into the children's bags, thinking: You small mortals don't realize the power of your stories.

Madness, as I understood it from books, meant a person who was open to the high white whine of everything.

I see nobody on the road," said Alice. "I only wish that I had such eyes," the King remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too! Why, it's as much as I can do to see real people, by this light!" —Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

People are symptoms of dreams

I was a fairy-minded kid, a comic book kid, and I had a bad habit of looking for augurs and protectors where there were none.

The girl has a funny way of romanticizing things.

You can always put balsamic vinaigrette on salted meat and sort of pretend it's a salad.

As a kid I heard the word malignancy as "Malig-Nancy" like an evil woman's name, no matter how many times Kiwi and the Chief and Dr. Gautman himself corrected me. Our mother had mistaken her first symptoms for a pregnancy, and so I still pictured the Malig-Nancy as a baby, a tiny, eyeless fist of a sister, killing her.

Any human eye, goggled by a car's windshield, can graft such fantasies onto the great Mojave.

Maybe that rusty boat hangar looked like the entrance to a cave to her," he'd said. Maybe. If you were eight, and near-sighted, and nostalgic for places that you'd never been. But if the Glowworm Grotto actually exists, that changes everything. Olivia's ghost could be there now, twitching her nose with rabbity indignation - "But I left you a map!" Wondering what took us so long to find her.

My dad's version of the book, the staid, declarative Guide to the Galaxy, is nearly identical, except that the graphics are a matte black, and the same information is listed as Fact #47. I guess that's what growing up means, at least according to to the publishing industry: phosphorescence fades to black and white, and facts cease to be fun.

I dropped the candies into the children's bags, thinking: You small mortals don't realize the power of your stories.

We amassed a plastic weapons cache in the hollow of the oak that included the Sounds of Warfare Blazer, a toy gun that required sixteen triple-A batteries to make a noise like a tubercular guinea pig. Those