Quotes About Imagination

One day a year let's all pretend that death is tucked up, fast asleep. That no lives meet a tragic end, no dreams are shattered on the cheap. The world's at peace, there are no wars, we hug our friend, our former foe. No beggars die outside locked doors, all cells are empty on death row. Nobody's stabbed, nobody's shot, no car runs over someone's friend. This can't be true! – Well, maybe not. All I'm saying is: let's pretend.

Songs are built by whimsy, faulty memory, and free association.

There's a long, long trail a-winding into the land of my dreams.

Any man worth my love lives only in storybooks.

I was not afraid; only fascinated, confident to that he was my own creation.

You live only in the imagination of the one who created you, and have no past other than that. Your life is bright, fluttering dream, a butterfly against the sky, a spiralling petal falling down from a high branch, a falling snowflake approaching a hot coal. No more than this. You have never been alive.

Within a very short space of time, I had to lean against the wall for support, the ground beneath my feet swaying as if I was on a boat. In fact, it was more comforting to imagine that I was.

Melandra shivered, remembering all the hours she had spent alone as a young girl, and the tall, sinister shadows that might have waited for her in the tangled corners of the garden playgrounds.

I fairly floated in a daze, lines falling from my lips without conscious thought.

Magic is optimism and hope, isn't it? The desire for more than what is mundane to appear.

An empty page. A new story waiting for a thought, a hint, a desire.

Beth was a pleasurable fantasy, but I liked to think she looked upon me as an imaginary friend.

Their language is that of dreams and memories.

I studied her beautiful features. No, this was a real person; she was not an image, not a ghost, not a fantasy.

In moments of reverie; he sometimes wondered whether he himself was but the subject of a lonely pIerson's writing, as Ays and Finnigin were his.

There are landscapes there, but they are like nothing seen on Earth; gone are the restrictions of natural order; these are the kingdoms of imagination, where nothing is impossible or too bizarre.

Sometimes the muse sits on my shoulder, but most often not I have a devil of a job tempting her back!

You are an ingenuous little terranaut, who is having a series of grubby adventures.

In any case, a world without toys would be a terribly dull place.

He sensed its great age beneath his feet and even now, closing his eyes upon the busy street, fancied he could sense its previous incarnations, when the streets had been merely mud. Perhaps it had always been filthy.

I listened to them being bravely humorous, overtaken by a sense of distance from them, sheer unreality.

How quaint my imagination has been, she thought. Foy killed it. She showed me too much and destroyed my capacity to dream.

Perhaps, by seeing them in the flesh, I would exorcise the ghosts their images had conjured in my mind.

Too long have we hidden away here in the atelier courts.