Quotes About Imagination

But dragons are one thing and aunts are another.

distance lends enchantment to the view

Tricky devils, these novelists. The ink gets into their heads.

In fact, it seemed to him that he could almost hear the wedding bells ringing already. Then, coming out of his dreams, he realized that it was the telephone.

I might, that is to say, be safe from the dragon, but what about the hippogriffs? That was the question I asked myself. What price the hippogriffs?

What, in your opinion, will the harvest be? One finds it difficult to hazard a conjecture, sir. You mean imagination boggles? Yes, sir. I inspected my imagination. He was right. It boggled.

I could make a poet out of far less promising material. I could make a poet out of two sticks and a piece of orange peel.

There are all sorts of restaurants in London—from the restaurant which makes you fancy you are in Paris to the restaurant which makes you wish you were.

INTERVIEWER: Did you always know you would be a writer? WODEHOUSE: Yes, always. I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't remember what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.

A] single glance told him that here was somebody who was sitting on a pink cloud with a rainbow round his shoulder. Mr. Trout had not yet burst into song with a hey nonny nonny and a hotchacha, but when you said that you had said everything.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

In the eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?

We must dream our way.

You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop...

Child who does not play is not a child, but the man who does not play has lost forever the child who lived within him and who he will miss terribly

Dónde van las cosas del sueño? Se van al sueño de otros?

Hay una estrella mas abierta que la palabra 'amapola'? Is there a star more wide open than the word 'poppy?

Quiero saltar al agua para caer al cielo. (Agua dormida)

Começarei por dizer, sobre os dias e anos de minha infância, que meu único personagem inesquecível foi a chuva.

veo el mundo enteramente rosa y azul.