Quotes About Imagination

The boy could scarcely believe the size of the boulders, clustered under the enormous sun like dead red rockets awaiting repair, or the span of the sky, a cheerfully vacant blue dome, the desert's hallucinatory choreography achieved through stillness, brightness, darkness, distance -- and all of this before noon.

My older sister has entire kingdoms inside of her, and some of them are only accessible at certain seasons, in certain kinds of weather.

My older sister has entire kingdoms inside of her, and some of them are only accessible at certain seasons, in certain kinds of weather. One such melting occurs in summer rain, at midnight, during the vine-green breathing time right before sleep. You have to ask the right question, throw the right rope bridge, to get there-and then bolt across the chasm between you, before your bridge collapses.

A single note, held in an amber suspension of time, like a charcoal drawing of Icarus falling. It was sad and fierce all at once, alive with a lonely purity. It went on and on, until my own lungs were burning. "What bird are you calling?" I asked finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer. The Bird Man stopped whistling. He grinned, so that I could see all his pebbly teeth. "You.

Neuroscientists have a biological explanation for why those downward negative-thought spirals happen in the first place. MRIs have shown that every time people think angry thoughts or imagine worst-case scenarios, they send a surge of blood flowing into the brain regions associated with depression and anger—which refuels their depression and anger in a destructive feedback loop.

Whether metaphors are strung together like separate beads on a string, or kneaded together into a compound, it's important that we can use more than one of them.

Then you are a poet?' she asked, fingering the flyer in her pocket. 'No not at all,' he waved his hand. 'I am merely a character in a poem.

No single imagination is wild or crass or cheesy enough to compete with the collective mindlessness that propels our fascination forward.

I have heard Brazilian children say that whatever passes through the arc of the rainbow becomes its opposite. But what is the opposite of a bird? Or for what matter, a human being? And what then, in the great rain forest, where, in its season, the rain never ceases and the rainbows are myriad?

Just like all great stories, our fears focus our attention on a question that is as important in life as it is in literature: What will happen next?

I feel like writing a book there's always a version in your head that's an amazing version, but then you write the version that you can write.

Our fears are an amazing gift of the imagination... a way of glimpsing what might be the future when there's still time to influence how that future will play out.

It never has happened, and it never will happen, and that is why it is told.

I first began to tell tales to delight the world and make it wiser...

Don't think of the realities, Ceecee. Think of possibilities and dreams. Of things you can't even imagine yet. And write those down.

I wanted to cry for the little girls we'd been before the world's glaring spotlight eradicated our childish imaginations.

I'd sat on a bench there with Mabry and Bennett, eating ice cream and making up dramatic stories about the people we'd seen, their hidden lives and dark secrets. Mabry said I gave her nightmares sometimes, that that was the true mark of a storyteller, to make people believe something made-up was real.

It wasn't that I didn't believe in the tree's power. But I believed in the power of human imagination more, of projecting our dreams and wishes into a safe space where we could place our disappointments if they didn't come true.

I am your sugarplum fairy commodore in chief.

Kirjailijan ammatissa parasta on se, ettei tapaa uusia ihmisiä.

This author has nothing but imagination…there are people who claim that imagination has clearer and keener eyes than a wise, old mind." Translated from: Und Friede auf Erden, (1904) (And Peace on Earth)

A woman is, occasionally, quite a serviceable substitute for masturbation. It takes an abundance of imagination, to be sure.

If the reporter has killed our imagination with his truth, he threatens our life with his lies.