Quotes About Imagination

But then in dreams we are always children.

she prefers to think in similitudes rather than reason things out...

Writers like to believe they're in control of their material, but that's just a comforting lie. After more than twenty-five years of making my life as storyteller, it's become extremely -sometimes painfully- clear to me that I'm just a vehicle, a way for the story to get out into the world. But it's the story itself that does the telling.

Horror is not unimaginable, it has neither the face of a monster nor the bat-wings of a demon. It is calm and tranquil, and it is durable, lasting whole days and nights, months; years, perhaps. It is not mortal. It strikes at the eyes, only the eyes.

There was no such thing as a straight line until mathematicians invented one.

God, he even knew their names. Rhage. Phury. And that scary-ass Zsadist guy. Yeah, no Tom, Dick, and Harry names for the vampire types. But come on, could you actually imagine some lethal bloodsucker named Howard? Eugene?

Indeed, the human mind appeared to suffer from a crippling need to fabricate in the absence of concrete proof.

What was said about him, what the females needed to believe about him, was just oral masturbation for mouths that needed to be otherwise occupied.

To her, saving grace meant you got to live out your life like a normal person: You were healthy and strong, an the prospect of death was just some far-off, barely acknowledged hypothetical. A debt to be paid off in a future you couldn't imagine

Well, too bad, boys—life wasn't an epi of Doctor Who. And you know what?

Yeah, we could strap a small car to Lassiter's back and make him run around by the pool—

Although he could have been wearing a seventies lounge suit and she probably would have drooled over the polyester.

I want to meet you in person." "Sorry, I'm not into dating." "Yeah, I can imagine with that face of yours you don't have much luck there. But I don't want you for sex." "I'm so relieved. Now who the fuck are you?

Ci fu un silenzio tonante, ma solo nella stanza. Nella testa tatuata? Il suo cervello era attivissimo, ogni tipo di pensiero e immagine tormentavano la sua coscienza, era come se la sua materia grigia fosse diventata una scimmia e stesse lanciando merda per tutta la gabbia.

No, in his imagination, things ended as they should have, with him stroking Blay's face and willing the lights on so they could look at each other. In his fantasy, he kissed his best friend again, pulled back, and… "I love you," he said into the spray of the shower. "I…love you." As he closed his eyes against the pain, it was hard to know how much of what ran down his cheeks was water, and how much was something else.

You are more astounding than even my daydreams.

The title was In the Rain Forest of the Monkey Mind.

Her sex life was non-existent in the real world. In her imagination, however, it had flourished.

I think Disney would have accepted this movie if Walt Disney were still alive. Walt Disney not only had vision, but he was also an extremely adventurous person. He wasn't afraid.

The writing part is always the hardest part of filmmaking. Almost anyone can direct—they won't necessarily direct well, but the machinery works—you can take someone off the street and put them with an experienced crew and the movie will get made. But writing can't be faked. It doesn't run itself. It has to be worked out very specifically, word for word, image for image.

George said just off the top of his head, 'I'd like to see a metal castle in the snow,' Ã¢â'¬Â McQuarrie says. "George was looking for a place to put Vader's office." In one entry, Lucas seems to have reconstructed how he arrived at the name Darth Vader—a combination of the words dark, death, invader.

If the people of Old Earth, our ancestors and their descendants today who remain, could keep building, could keep trying, how can we do less? We are their children, and while we bought to the stars with us all the faults and the problems and the flaws of the past, we also bought the good things, the determination, and the willingness to help others, and the imagination to build things greater then every shortcoming humanity has ever known.

Libraries are medieval forests masking opportunity and danger; every aisle is a path, every catalog reference a clue to the location of the Holy Grail. It is here that I become privy to the sacred songs of kings and the ballads of rogues. Here are tales of life-and-death struggles of other wayfarers as they battle personal dragons and woo fair maidens. Walking down this hallway, I am a knight entering the forest in search of the truth...

It seems to me that it's usually impossible to get hold of another time. You look at a pair of high-button shoes, the leather dry and cracked, buttons missing, the cloth uppers nearly drained of color by the years, and it just isn't possible to get into the mind of some long-gone woman who once saw them new. How could they ever have been new and shining, something a woman might actually covet?