Quotes About Imagination

He saw moving pictures. It was not quite like remembering.

Lucas continued, speaking pensively in a dreamy tone, The painters, you know, the painters, what they did for Christianity!

Comenzar una novela es como abrir la puerta o un paisaje neblinoso; ves muy poco, pero hueles la tierra y sientes el soplo del viento.

I liked to live in other people's worlds and have none of my own.

Willy seemed like an inhabitant of some other dimension who could only tenuously communicate with the ordinary world. This would have troubled her less if she had not imagined his other dimension as a place of horror.

Enormous vistas of thought were unrolling in my mind.

He did not read. This continued to amaze Ludens who could not imagine existence without reading.

How little thought he had given to her since, how little imagination of her feelings — and after the great honour which she had done him. She had offered him herself and said she loved him.

And oh, when we still used to sleep together, lying awake at night and finding one's only consolation in imagining in detail how one would go downstairs and find a hatchet and smash one's partners head in and mash it into a bloody pudding on the pillow!

All was movement, all was change, and somehow this was visible and yet unimaginable.

The painter copies this bed from one point of view. He is thus at three removes from reality. He does not understand the bed, he does not measure it, he could not make it.

The painter and the writer are not just copyists or even illusionists, but through some deeper vision of their subject-matter may become privileged truth tellers.

What dangerous machines letters are. Perhaps it is as well that they are going out of fashion. A letter can be endlessly reread and reinterpreted, it stirs imagination and fantasy, it persists, it is red-hot evidence.

She dreamt she saw the Polish Rider passing slowly by and he was weeping and she called out to him, but he turned his head away. She dreamt that she was drowning in the pool of tears.

It was odd, the life one lived in other people's dreams.

You have sometimes thought of going back? Yes, I have, but only in a fantasy way.

enjoying literature as those alone enjoy it who have little else to enjoy.

My first love, and also my only love. All the best, even Clement, have been shadows by comparison. The necessity of this seems, in my own case, so great that I find it hard to imagine that it is not so with everyone.

we have futures. That means we can make things true…

This is perhaps the saddest experience in the demise of love and the most difficult for the imagination to encompass: to come to know that someone who loved you once now regards you as boring and annoying and unimportant. Sheer hatred might even be preferred to this.

But now he was dreaming, he was wildly imagining things.

Blaise has always lived in a dream world. We all live in dream worlds, said Monty.

You are always wanting other people to act in some drama which you have invented.

Even Wittgenstein did not think that we would ever reach the moon.