Quotes About Imagination

Thus, in imagination, individuals seem freer under the dominance of the bourgeoisie than before, because their conditions of life seem accidental; in reality, of course, they are less free, because they are to a greater extent governed by material forces.

The new era differs from the old chiefly in that the lash begins to imagine itself possessed of genius.

All mythology masters and dominates and shapes the forces of nature in and through the imagination; hence it disappears as soon as man gains mastery over the forces of nature

The premises from which we begin are not arbitrary ones, not dogmas, but real premises from which abstraction can only be made in the imagination. They are the real individuals, their activity and the material conditions under which they live, both those which they find already existing and those produced by their activity. These premises can thus be verified in a purely empirical way.

Wie niet liever met eigen krachten een eigen wereld bouwt, de schepper van een wereld is, dan eeuwig in zijn eigen schulp te blijven, die is door de geest met een banvloek getroffen, met een interdict, maar in omgekeerde betekenis: hij is verjaagd uit het heiligdom van de geest, verstoken van de eeuwige luxe van de geest, en gedoemd om wiegeliedjes te zingen over zijn eigen privé-gelukzaligheid en daar 's nachts van zichzelf te dromen.

I've tried counting sheep like everyone recommends, but what tends to happen is that my brain thinks it's seen the same sheep twice and that messes up my count, and when I think there's no more sheep to count, another three will come running along and startle me. Or just as I think I've finished counting, an elephant comes running in. By this point I'm wide awake.

Maybe this is how Michael Jackson came up with his moonwalk. Maybe he was acting out a time when he stepped in dogshit and tried to get it off his shoes.

Katrai gr?matai ir dv?sele - t? cilv?ka dv?sele, kurš gr?matu sarakst?jis, un to cilv?ku dv?seles, kuri gr?matu las?juši un kop? ar to sap?ojuši.

PLAY IS MORE POWERFUL THAN LOVE." ~ Patch Adams, MD

Fiction had never been Jackson's thing. Facts seemed challenging enough without making stuff up. What he discovered was that the great novels of the world were about three things - death, money and sex. Occasionally a whale.

The whole edifice of civilization turned out to be constructed from an unstable mix of quicksand and imagination.

All the birds who were never born, all the songs that were never sung and so can only exist in the imagination. And this one is Teddy's.

If she had been in charge of designing the human race she would have gone about things differently. (A golden shaft of light through the ear for conception perhaps and a well-fitting hatch somewhere modest for escape nine months later.)

Get down,' Bunty says grimly. 'Mummy's thinking.' (Although what Mummy's actually doing is wondering what it would be like if her entire family was wiped out and she could start again.)

As I watch, the sky fills with clouds of snow feathers from every kind of bird there ever was and even some that only exist in the imagination, like the bluebirds that fly over the rainbow.

The mind is a fathomless mystery.

From the open French windows Sylvie watched Maurice erecting a makeshift tennis net, which mostly seemed to involve whacking everything in sight with a mallet. Small boys were a mystery to Sylvie. The satisfaction they gained from throwing sticks or stones for hours on end, the obsessive collection of inanimate objects, the brutal destruction of the fragile world around them, all seemed at odds with the men they were supposed to become.

Did God get out of bed one morning and draw back the curtains (Reggie's imaginary God led a very domesticated life) and think, 'A drowning in a hotel swimming pool, I fancy. We haven't had that one in a while.

By the end of the war there was nothing about men and women that surprised him. Nothing about anything really. The whole edifice of civilization turned out to be constructed from an unstable mix of quicksand and imagination.

Personally, I don't think it right to make up things about real people—although I suppose there's an argument for saying that once you're dead you're not real any more. But then we have to define what we mean by real and none of us wants to go down that tortuous path because we all know where it leads (madness or a first-class honours, or both).

Or was it, as everyone told her, and as she must believe, all in her head? And so what if it was – wasn't everything in her head real too? What if there was no demonstrable reality? What if there was nothing beyond the mind?

Or was it, as everyone told her, and as she must believe, all in her head? And so what if it was - wasn't everything in her head real too? What if there was no demonstrable reality? What if there was nothing beyond the mind?

Before the beginning is the void and the void belongs in neither time nor space and is therefore beyond our imagination. Nothing will come of nothing unless it's the beginning of the world. This is how it begins, with the word and the word is life. The void is transformed by a gigantic firecracker allowing time to dawn and imagination to begin.

no book could ever be left in the condition you found it in because it was changed every time it was read by someone.