Quotes About Imagination

He couldn't imagine returning, for a sense of finality and ending enclosed him like a farewell murmured in a soft sad voice.

If I owned a thousand books, thought Shan, I need never leave this house. Everything in the world could be see through the eyes of those who'd written the stories and histories, who'd lived them.

By closing your eyes and forming images of your choice, you begin to control your imagination. Like dreaming, when you visualize you should be able to use all of your senses to experience what you 'see around you.

The simple act of visualization can enable you to change reality.

I've dreamed of the sensuous, secret-shrouded lands of antiquity, where the nights are filled with perfume and the tantalizing slither of silk against skin. In these places, the incubi and the succubae of the imagination wake up and walk.

Sometimes, it seemed almost as if this book wrote itself.

The man uses his imagination to follow an object of fascination. He is tantalised by the chase, but also tantalises the prey. He does not want to move from his lonely home, because the reality of life might not match up to his imagination.

I lay down among the the rocks, and they were gold and crimson like a royal tomb. I saw wonderous shapes rise from the fumes, twisting and curling like cats about me. They breathed upon me and filled me with fire. I saw myself leading armies. I saw myself killing men, and in my heart I felt a fierce glee. I saw myself ridding the world of all that was worthless.

This was Paraga's capital and his image appeared on the walls of nearly every building within the citadel. He was a delicate creature with enormous wings like sails. His face was almost feline, with long curling whiskers and enormous eyes with slit pupils.

Poor waifs. They lived in a fantasy world. How would his intrusion affect it? He hoped to find out very soon.

Perhaps he had become mythical, and was therefore creating myths.

He was inventing the world beyond, peopling it, making them live.

I love telling stories, so I was hopelessly seduced.

He knew there were dreams waiting for him, and could even feel their shadowy presences rusting in the corners of the room, among his clothes in the wardrobe, beneath his bed.

Could Ellony feel the potential humming around her? She still stared moodily into the flames, no doubt dreaming of the days she thought would come.

It was like a fairytale. She couldn't imagine these creatures of myth physically present in the land.

He wondered whether what he had heard indicated that a city was moving far above him on the surface, and whether the wounding thunder meant that, it had foundered, or collided with another city.

Jay felt she could sense the overlapping layers of reality all around, just beyond her perception. But how could she see them? She felt it might be similar to the way the eyes could focus on a computer generated image, and perceive a shape in the chaotic pattern. If she concentrated hard enough, she was sure an image would suddenly loom before her, clear and definite.

Daniel, you've suffered from loving only unimaginative lovers. Let me teach you a little." "I will, but not now.

Had I merely dreamed up an improbably solution to the puzzle, which was only the product of a lively imagination? I felt Keea wanted to me to think that. Still there was no point in rushing to conclusions; I must wait and observe.

She was imaginative and naturally wild, but no one who met the demure, tidy child would ever have guessed that.

As a child, I had thought the guardian-pursuers to be very real, but as I grew older, I concluded they were simply products of our own imaginations, shaped into being by the trauma of the scrying rite we all undergo at eight years of age. It's not impossible that the scryers conjure them forth from the murk of the soulscape itself anchoring the vigilant images to our conscious minds by an insidiously instilled sense of guilt.

If a body should fall from that window, its flight would be impeded by the stone arms of caryatids and gargoyles, or else impaled. I could see him thinking of his own death, and he was achingly lovely as he did so: the archetype of all the boys ever loved by kings. His hair, unbound, flowed down him like a veil; the colour of dark honey. His eye, in profile, was slightly slanted, its cat-like shape accentuated by a kiss of kohl.

I've already written 300 space poems. But I look upon my ultimate form as being a poetic prose. When you read it, it appears to be prose, but within the prose you have embedded the techniques of poetry.