Quotes About Imagination

Men should have squint lines from looking at the horizon," the old librarian had said, "not just from reading in dim light.

What's a horizon?" Lazlo asked, straight-faced. "Is it like the end of an aisle of books?

and when the Tizerkane warriors rode out of the Great Library and out of Zosma, Strange the dreamer went with them.

Humans have gotten glimpses of things over time," he'd said. "Just enough to make the rest up. It's all a quilt of fairy tales with a patch here and there of truth." "So what's real?" she'd wanted to know. "If you can kill it, or it can kill you, it's real.

It was only an illusion, but a perfect illusion.

It was impossible of course, but when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming?

Odinioara fusese plina de candoare , o fetita care se juca fara nicio grija cu niste pene pe podeaua barlogului unui diavol. Acum, nu mai era deloc inocenta.

Here, captured between covers, was the history of the human imagination, and nothing had ever been more beautiful, or fearsome, or bizarre.

The books under the dust, they were stories. Folktales, fairy tales, myths, and legends. They spanned the whole world. They went back centuries, and longer.

Un uomo dovrebbe avere le zampe di gallina per aver scrutato troppo l'orizzonte, non soltanto per aver letto con poca luce».

Hielo y desenlace. El instante se congeló, imposible. Inimaginable. Real. Todo el ser se puede transformar en un grito, tan rápido como si fuera a lomos del filo de un cuchillo arrojado al aire. A Karou le sucedió. En aquel instante no era músculo y sangre, sino únicamente aire apresurándose para formar un grito que podría haber sido infinito.

Inspired, Karou said, 'Hey! That's what you should do for your project. Make a giant puppeteer, and you be the marionette. You know? You could make it so that when you move, it's like, I don't know, reverse puppetry. Has anyone done that before? You're the puppet, dancing from strings, but really it's your movements that are making the puppeteer's hands move?

I only mean," he rushed to explain, "if you're afraid of your own dreams, you're welcome here in mine.

But the top--the future--would hold a brilliant storm of color.

It was like stepping into the pages of a book - a book alive with colour and fragrance, filth and chaos - and the blue-haired girl moved through it all like a fairy through a story, the light treating her differently than it did others, the air seeming to gather around her like held breath. As if this whole place were a story about her.

De su hombro colgaba un portafolio de dibujo y sobre su pelo - largo, suelto y de color azul eléctrico - se había formado un encaje de copos de nieve.

Se uita in ochii ei de parca in ei erau lumi intregi , minuni si descoperiri.

Como si aquel lugar fuera un cuento dedicado a ella.

Hieronymus Bosch

Por qué no tienen un pegaso en la compañía. Un simpático y dócil caballo volador con crines esponjosas en vez de púas en el que ir flotando como una nube.

It looked for all the world as Karou had described it in her one brief e-mail to Zuzana: like a sandcastle, a very big sandcastle. It was monumental: an entire town, really – lanes and plazas, neighborhoods, a caravansary, granary, and palace – all of it echoing empty. Its creators had dreamed on a legendary scale, and to stand in its flagstone court, mud walls and peaked roofs jutting overhead, was to feel shrunk to the size of a songbird.

He learned to coax Brother Cyrus into that place of reverie, and he collected the stories like treasure. Lazlo owned nothing, not one single thing, but from the first, the stories felt like his own hoard of gold.

Every mind is its own world. Most occupy a vast middle ground of ordinary, while others are more distinct: pleasant, even beautiful, or sometimes slippery and unaccountably wrong-feeling.

Dreams have their rhythms, their deeps and shallows.