Quotes About Imagination

Therese of Austry would have made a great treasure hunter if she hadn't been born the daughter of an Emperor.

Voleva tornare nel suo sogno. Forse era ancora lì, da qualche parte dietro le palpebre abbassate. Forse alle ciglia era rimasta attaccata un po' di felicità, come la polvere d'oro delle fatine della buonanotte.

I libri devono essere pesanti perché dentro hanno il mondo intero.

Los libros tienen que pesar porque el mundo entero está encerrado en ellos.

Noch eind Land, das ich zum ersten Mal hinter den Spiegeln bereise. Ich kenne deine Welt so viel besser als meine. - Jacob

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any courser like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul! Emily Dickinson, The Poems of Emily Dickinson

Elinor Loredan: But I just adore everything Persian. Meggie Folchart: You've been to Persia, then? Elinor: Yes, a hundred times. Along with St. Petersburg, Paris, Middle-Earth, distant planets and Shangri-la. And I never had to leave this room. Books are adventure. They contain murder and mayhem and passion. They love anyone who opens them.

Of course, the marvels you hoped to find might not be waiting inside the covers, so then you closed the book, sorry that its promise had not been kept. But Inkheart was not a book of that

Der Weglose Wald verdiente seinen Namen. Er schien kein Anfang und kein Ende zu haben, wie ein grünes Meer, in dem man ebenso leicht ertrinken konnte wie in den Wellen seines salzig nassen Namensvettern.

La paura ha tutto un altro sapore quando la si vive dal vero, Meggie, e giocare all'eroe non era così divertente come mi ero immaginato.

Perhaps the story in the book is just the lid on a pan: it always stays the same, but underneath there's a whole world that goes on – developing and changing like our own world.

Perhaps the story in the book is just the lid on the pan; it always stays the same, but underneath there's a whole world that goes on developing and changing like our own.

I wish I could do that, it whispered. I'd like to bring them out of books, touch them, all those characters, all those wonderful characters. I want them to come out of the pages and sit beside me, I want them to smile at me, I want, I want, I want...

Words that explained the world to her, its dark side and its light side, words that built a wall to keep out bad dreams.

ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world?

True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air. William Shakespeare, Romeo and

I'd believe any story at all just so long as it's well told.

Quando ti porti dietro un libro avviene qualcosa di straordinario: le sue pagine raccoglieranno i tuoi ricordi. E un giorno ti basterà risfogliarle per tornare col pensiero al luogo dove le hai lette per la prima volta.

If, like Riccio, you didn't have parents, it was easy to imagine how wonderful they might have been. But what if you had parents and they weren't wonderful at all?

If you take a book with you on a journey, an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while reading it... yes, books are like flypaper—memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.

Perché gli adulti credevano che i bambini sopportassero meglio i misteri che la verità? Non sapevano quali storie terribili ci si andava a inventare, alle volte, per tentare di capire ciò che i grandi nascondevano?

She looked inquiringly at Meggie. "Do you like Alice in Wonderland?" "Not particularly," said Meggie, staring at the map. Elinor shook her head at such childish folly and turned back to Dustfinger.

La sete di storie diminuiva se si poteva viverne una?

Las malas historias no despiertan a la vida. No hay ningún Dedo Polvoriento en ellas.