Quotes About Imagination

But mostly poetic I'm whatever I've seen on a movie screen

He's got big dreams like you can't believe

Vice President) Garner has taken his personal smallness, his lack of generosity, and forged it into a political principle. He has no imagination, no convictions, and he substitutes political cynicism for social understanding.

Art involves forgetfulness of immediate ends; complete surrender to the inward impulse to give form to the beautiful idea or image of truth because it is beautiful.

There are few chapters in the biography of the childhood of men of genius more significant than those which describe imaginary worlds which were, for a time, as real as the actual world in which the boy lived.

The fairy tale belongs to the child and ought always to be within his reach, not only because it is his special literary form and his nature craves it, but because it is one of the most vital of the textbooks offered to him in the school of life. In ultimate importance it outranks the arithmetic, the grammar, the geography, the manuals of science; for without the aid of the imagination none of these books is really comprehensible.

The myths record the earliest attempt at an explanation of the world and its life; the fairy tale records the free and joyful play of the imagination, opening doors through hard conditions to the spirit, which craves power, freedom, happiness; righting wrongs and redressing injuries; defeating base designs; rewarding patience and virtue; crowning true love with happiness;

Little Two Eyes went home

A few days later, Dr. Ambler told De Long of a curious dream he'd had about Edison's lamps. In the dream, Sir John Franklin, the long-lost British explorer, had come aboard the Jeanette for a tour. Dr. Ambler led Franklin all over the ship and told him excitedly about Edison's electric lights, an invention that, of course, wasn't even dreamed about in Franklin's day. But Franklin bluntly interrupted him. "Your electric machine," he said, "is not worth a damn.

I've had thousands of problems in my life. Most of which never actually happened.

All poets and story tellers alive today make a single brotherhood; they are engaged in a single work, picturing our human life. Whoever pictures life as he sees it, reassembles in his own way the details of existence which affect him deeply, and so creates a spiritual world of his own.

Anyone in the humor business isn't thinking clearly if he doesn't surround himself with idea people. Otherwise, you settle for mediocrity - or you burn yourself out.

Tylko literatura mo?e uprzytomni? ?wiatu jego nienormalno??. Nie historia... tylko literatura.

Men always want to be terribly influential, but I see that as somewhat external. Do I imagine myself being influential? No. I want to understand. And if others understand--in the same sense that I have understood--that gives me a sense of satisfaction, like feeling at home.

From bitter experience she knew that pictures thrown on the screen of her imagination could seem much more unnerving and terrible than the actual facts.

Imagination frames events unknown, In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin, And what it fears creates.

The mind, after being confined at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad in quest of new treasures; and the body may as well accompany it,

games are an extension of our imagination

Clarimonde sitzt am Fenster und spinnt. Fäden, lange, dünne, unendlich feine Fäden. Sie macht ein Gewebe daraus, ich weiß nicht, was es werden soll. Und ich kann nicht begreifen, wie sie dies Netz machen kann, ohne immer wieder die zarten Fäden zu verwirren und zu zerreißen. Es sind wunderliche Muster in ihrer feinen Arbeit, Fabeltiere und merkwürdige Fratzen.

Meinst du, es gäbe nichts außer dem, was du dir vorstellen kannst?

Tap?naklar?n ihtiÅŸam? ve Tanr? tasvirlerinin sanat?, 'humus' tabakas?ndan yukar?ya besleyici bir g?da ta??yabilecek olan 'kökler' fikrine izin vermez. Bu g?da tam da binalar üzerine bina, tasvirler üzerine tasvir ederek çekildiÄŸi düÅŸünülen s?n?rlar?n d???nda b?rak?land?r.

Each little princess had her own little plot of garden where she could dig and plant just as she liked. One made her flower-bed in the shape of a whale, another thought it nice to have hers like a little mermaid; but the youngest made hers quite round like the sun, and she would only have flowers of a rosy hue like its beams.

In the middle of a garden grew a rose tree; it was full of roses, and in the loveliest of them all lived an elf. He was so tiny that no human eye could see him. He had a snug little room behind every petal of the rose. He was as well made and as perfect as any human child, and he had wings reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a delicious scent there was in his room, and how lovely and transparent the walls were, for they were palest pink, rose petals.

Nothing gave her greater pleasure than to hear about the world of human beings up above; she made her old grandmother tell her all that she knew about ships and towns, people and animals. But above all it seemed strangely beautiful to her that up on the earth the flowers were scented, for they were not so at the bottom of the sea.