Quotes About Imagination

Truth in her dress finds facts too tight. In fiction she moves with ease.

We lose ourselves in books. We find ourselves there too.

I've never been skydiving, but I have zoomed-in on Google Earth really fast.

Poetry is not only a set of words which are chosen to relate to each other it is something which goes much further than that to provide a glimpse of our vision of the world.

My father used to tell me that stories offer the listener a chance to escape but, more importantly, he said, they provide people with a chance to maximize their minds. Suspend ordinary constraints, allow the imagination to be freed, and we are charged with the capability of heighetned thought. Learn to use your eyes as if they are your ears, he said, and you become connected with the ancient heritage of man, a dream world for the waking mind.

Stories are not like the real world; they aren't held back by what we know is false or true. What's important is how a story makes you feel inside.

To Succeed, you must reach for the stars, and let your imagination find its own path

Creative vision, sometimes childlike, enhances our ability to explore and question the reality around us.

Blake encourages us to fully engage our imagination in questioning of reality.

We want to see the newest things. That is because we want to see the future, even if only momentarily. It is the moment in which, even if we don't completely understand what we have glimpsed, we are nonetheless touched by it. This is what we have come to call art.

When there's snow on the ground, I like to pretend I'm walking on clouds.

You're always with me. But that must also be some version of you that i made up inside my head

Make it up as we go along...

Det var en historie som knyttet meg til henne med både hjerte og sjel, og jeg kommer aldri til å glemme den. Den er faktisk så virkelig for meg at jeg kan se for meg alle deltakerne og rollene de spilte, som om de står på en scene.

a truth does not take too long to tell, only a fiction requires so much thought

The fact is, we humans don't live directly in the physical universe. We live in a model of the world we have created collectively through language and which we maintain communally. That model was already in existence when we were born; we merely made our way into it as we matured. Becoming an adult meant gaining the ability to imagine the same world as everyone else.

If you've a story, make sure it's a whole one, with details close to hand. It's the difference between a good lie and getting caught.

I read a lot. I always have, but in those two years I gorged myself on books with a voluptuous, almost erotic gluttony. I would go to the local library and take out as many as I could, and then lock myself in the bedsit and read solidly for a week. I went for old books, the older the better--Tolstoy, Poe, Jacobean tragedies, a dusty translation of Laclos--so that when I finally resurfaced, blinking and dazzled, it took me days to stop thinking in their cool, polished, crystalline rhythms.

I am, of course, romanticizing; a chronic tendency of mine.

My memories of them had rubbed thin with overuse, worn to frail color transparencies flickering on the walls of my mind: Jamie scrambling intent and surefooted up to a high branch, Peter's laugh arcing out of the trompe-l'oeil dazzle of green ahead. Through some slow sea change they had become children out of a haunting storybook, bright myths from a lost civilization; it was hard to believe they had once been real and my friends.

I coped, in the grand tradition of children everywhere, by retreating into my imagination.

I pictured every inch of what she would look like now: the crow's-feet from smiles I hadn't seen, the softness of her belly from kids who weren't mine, all her life that I had missed written on her body in Braille for my hands to read.

He told me and Rafe to stay put in case you came home, burn the note and get hot water and disinfectant and bandages ready—' 'Which would have come in useful, Rafe said, lighting another cigarette, 'if we'd been delivering a baby in Gone with the Wind . What on earth was he picturing? Home surgery on the kitchen table with Abby's embroidery needle?

These three children own the summer. They know the wood as surely as they know the micro landscapes of their own grazed knees; put them down blindfolded in any dell or clearing and they could find their way out without putting a foot wrong. This is their territory, and they rule it wild and lordly as young animals; they scramble through its trees and hide-and-seek in its hollows all the endless day long, and all night in their dreams.