Quotes About Imagination

The enduring rapture with magic and fable has always struck me as latently childish and somehow sexless (and thus also related to childlessness).

El sueño de la razón produce monstruos. "The sleep of reason," it has been well said, "brings forth monsters.

Anyone who uses 'childhood' and 'dream' in the same sentence usually gets my attention.

La idea de la tortura es tan antigua como la maldad de la humanidad, que es la única especie con la imaginación suficiente para suponer el daño que se puede ocasionar cuando se le inflige a otro. No podemos culpar a la religión de este impulso, pero podemos condenarla por institucionalizar y refinar la práctica.

Only those who are capable of silliness can be called truly intelligent.

His life has been lived, so far, within narrow limits and he is quite naïve about most kinds of experience; he fears it and yet is wildly eager for it. To reassure himself, he converts it into epic myth as fast as it happens. He is forever play-acting.

Oh, I know you. You're soft, like most men. You make up romances about people instead of seeing them as they are.

I think', said Sally, 'it must be marvellous to be a novelist. You're frightfully dreamy and unpractical and unbusinesslike, and people imagine they can fairly swindle you as much as they want - and then you sit down and write a book about them which fairly shows them what swine they all are, and it's the most terrific success and you make pots of money.

Baš me sad neobi?no zaokuplja moj novi roman. Misle?i o njemu, ja ?esto odlazim sam na duga?ke šetnje.

Write, live what happens; Life is too sacred for invention – though we may lie about it sometimes, to heighten it.

And 'tis a pretty toy to be a poet.

Christopher Moore

By Aladdin's lamplit scrotum, man! Everything is a story. What is there but stories? Stories are the only truth.

Faith isn't an act of intelligence, it's an act of imagination.

Christopher Moore

Charlie Asher: Mrs. Ling, is that duck wearing trousers? Mrs. Ling: Could be . . . . You hear of paper-wrap chicken? This duck in pants.

I think there was always some scrawny dreamer sitting at the edge of the firelight, who had the ability to imagine dangers, to look into the future in his imagination and see possibilities, and therefore survived to pass his genes on to the next generation.

Paint only what you see,' his hero Millet had admonished. 'Imagination is a burden to a painter,' Auguste Renoir had told him. 'Painters are craftsmen, not storytellers. Paint what you see.' Ah, but what they hadn't said, hadn't warned him about, was how much you could see.

Why understand when you can believe?

Faith isn't an act of intelligence, it's an act of imagination. Every time you give them a new metaphor, a mustard seed, a field, a garden, a vineyard, it's like pointing something out to a cat - the cat looks at your finger, not at what you're pointing at. They don't need to understand it, they only need to believe, and they do. They imagine the kingdom as they need it to be, they don't need to grasp it, it's there already, they can let it be. Imagination, not intellect.

An original thought would crack your feeble skull like a thunderbolt, you craven vulture.

If you like what you're reading, I probably wrote it.

When he was reading he could fly away into the wildest skies of imagination, untethered to the reality that his soul was trapped in a wretched creature cobbled together from meat and bone, like us all.

Everything is a story. What is there but stories? Stories are the only truth.