Quotes About Imagination

I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal 'what's the use?' – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.

To know the art of impressing the imagination of crowds is to know at the same time the art of governing them.

An accident which should have caused the death of only five hundred instead of five thousand persons, but on the same day and in public, as the outcome of an accident appealing strongly to the eye, by the fall, for instance, of the Eiffel Tower, would have produced, on the contrary, an immense impression on the imagination of the crowd.

Ng??i ta ?ã xây d?ng nhi?u ??n ?ài, nhi?u t??ng, nhi?u bàn th? nh?t cho nh?ng ng??i sáng t?o ra các ?o t??ng.(...) Không có ?o t??ng, con ng??i s? không th? thoát ra kh?i tình tr?ng dã man nguyên th?y, và n?u không còn chúng, con ng??i s? s?m r?i vào tình tr?ng ?y.

Una vez aguijonada, la imaginación es un caballo que se desboca y al que no sirve tirarle de la rienda

Hay deseos que se ahogan en nuestra alma de mujer, sin que los revele más que un suspiro; ideas locas que cruzan por nuestra imaginación, sin que ose formularlas el labio, fenómenos incomprensibles de nuestra naturaleza misteriosa, que el hombre no puede ni aun concebir.

Inmóvil, absorto en una contemplación muda, yo permanecía aún con los ojos fijos en la figura de aquella mujer, cuya especial belleza había herido mi imaginación de un modo tan extraordinario.

podrá no haber poetas; pero siempre habrá poesía

Yo no sé si ese mundo de visiones vive fuera o va dentro de nosotros.

Por los tenebrosos rincones de mi cerebro, acurrucados y desnudos, duermen los extravagantes hijos de mi fantasía esperando en silencio que el Arte los vista de la palabra para poder presentarse decentes en la escena del mundo.

Me cuesta trabajo saber qué cosas he soñado y cuáles me han sucedido. Mis afectos se reparten entre fantasmas de la imaginación y personajes reales.

No digáis que, agotado su tesoro, de asuntos falta, enmudeció la lira; podrá no haber poetas; pero siempre habrá poesía.

La imaginación de los muchachos es un corcel, y la curiosidad la espuela que lo aguijonea y lo arrastra a través de los proyectos más imposibles. Movidos

Por los tenebrosos rincones de mi cerebro, acurrucados y desnudos, duermen los extravagantes hijos de mi fantasía, esperando en silencio que el arte los vista de la palabra para poderse presentar decentes en la escena del mundo.

Mientras la humanidad siempre avanzando, No sepa a do camina; Mientras haya un misterio para el hombre, ¡Habrá poesía!

In my imagination yes, I remember, when I was six years old, I was conducting all this concert in my house. But now it's real.

He looked out of the window to think, because without a window he couldn't think. Or maybe it was the other way around: When there was a window, he automatically started to think. Then he wrote, "When I grow up, I am going to be happy.

He looked out of the window to think, because without a window he couldn't think. Or Maybe it was the other way round: where there was a window, he automatically started to think. Then he wrote, 'When I grow up, I am going to be happy.

Anything that happens after I write a song...that's fine with me. It's up to the listener to read into it what they need from it. And that's part of the reason I write like I do, so I can leave the holes in the right places so people can say, 'Yeah, that happened to me,' and they're able to have their own little fantasy about it.

If we want young people to develop the habits of thinking for themselves, using their imagination, being open to new ideas, saying when they don't understand, and exploring real challenges together, then they have to see their teachers doing the same thing.

true art, be it painting or novel or drama or music, selects and arranges.

The poet is at the edge of our consciousness of the world, finding beyond the suspected nothingness which we imagine limits our perception another acre or so of being worth our venturing upon.

Of the autistically interior, dreaming, reading, erotic, self-sufficient child in Balthus' painting we have practically no image at all. Balthus' children are not being driven to succeed where their parents failed, or to be popular, adjusted, or a somebody.

Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.