Quotes About Imagination

I imagine that is I asked, she'd roll with me right here until we turned her white gown green and then thank me for the honour of my favour.' He smiles, going in for the kill, leaning toward me as if confiding a secret. 'Not that I'd be the first to green gown her.

The walls shimmer with mica, and the ceiling is all branches and green vines. In the antechamber, the shell of an enormous snail glows, a lamp the size of a small table.

If I can't find a good enough story, I make one.

I like you," I tell him. "I like playing pretend with you." "Pretend?" he echoes, as though he's not sure if I'm insulting him. ... "Of course we're pretending! We don't belong together, but it's fun anyway.

He looked down at a red book, embossed in gold. The title was Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass. He frowned at it in confusion. It wasn't what he'd thought a mortal book would be like; he thought they would be dull things, odes to their cars or skyscrapers. ... 'This is really a mortal book?' he asked.

Ik heb raar gedroomd.' 'Laat me eens raden. Je werd vastgebonden door vrouwelijke ninja's. Met dikke tieten.' 'Eh, nee.'... 'Het zou ook wel een beetje raar zijn geweest als we allebei dezelfde droom hadden gehad.

I need you to tell me everything about, you know, video games and science fiction shows and movies.

He was just a reader and readers can't do anything to make a story stop - except close the book.

He made me into a story, and I am going to make a story out of someone else.

To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes.

Holly Black, Cassandra Clare

I know there's no real Santa. Remember that little girl in the book you read me? That newspaper guy told her that it's okay if moms and dads bought the presents, 'cause they had Santa in their heart. Well, I got him in my heart, too. So, it's okay if Connie don't believe, 'cause I know my heart is big enough for Santa and me.

Fiction---good fiction, anyway---is dream made flesh, given purpose and drive, and set on a quest to show us the best in us and to give us the power and the tools to dream beyond reality's 'merely good enough' to a vision of what is truly great... ...and then to give us the stories of men and women of character who in turn inspire those of us who dare to reach for the truly great within ourselves. THAT is why you write fiction.

Write with joy

The story I'm writing finds its own voice while I'm writing it.

A dream, too, is from Zeus.

I didn't lie! I just created fiction with my mouth!

Girls are apt to imagine noble and enchanting and totally imaginary figures in their own minds; they have fanciful extravagant ideas about men, and sentiment, and life; and then they innocently endow somebody or other with all the perfections for their daydreams, and put their trust in him.

As soon as coffee is in your stomach, there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move…similes arise, the paper is covered. Coffee is your ally and writing ceases to be a struggle.

What a thing of fantasy a woman may become after dusk.

If you have any mind to keep my respect, I recommend you not to add imbecility to these qualities by imagining that such a girl as I am will be content with your asthmatic love, and not look for youth and good looks and pleasure by way of a variety—

Souvent, j'ai accompli de délicieux voyages, embarqué sur un mot ...

Soon this mass of ideas became harmonized, took life, seemed, as it were, to become a living individual and moved in the midst of those domains of fancy, where the soul loves to give full rein to its wild creations.

Instead of inspiring the gallant attentions which other women seek, she made men dream,