Quotes About Imagination

Life-writing calls for any number of dubious gifts: A touch of O.C.D., a lack of imagination, a large desk, neutrality of Swiss proportions, tactlessness, a high tolerance for archival dust. Most of all it calls for an act of displacement. 'To find your subject, you must in some sense lose yourself along the way,' is Richard Holmes's version.

C?rÈ›ile îns? au fost p?s?rile È™i cuiburile mele, animalele mele domestice, staulul È™i satul meu; biblioteca era lumea prins? într-o oglind?. Ca È™i ea era infinit de stufoas?, de variat?, de imprevizibil?.

La lecture est un rêve libre

Lo sai, quando giocavamo all'avventuriero e all'avventuriera, tu eri quello a cui capitavano avventure ed io ero quella che le faceva capitare.

This is what I thought: for the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story.

Our best writers read the most.

writing is performance.

If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write. —Stephen King

Metaphors Be With You

but rather a sort of joker, a floating signifier, a wild card, one who puts play into play." And this joker is the inventor of play, of games of draughts, dice

Concepts need their physical sounds, their scripted marks, etc. Even if we can imagine words "inside our head", we are conjuring their signifiers, their sensory aspects.

my conscience has the same hard reality as a unicorn.

There is a simple, logical explanation,' I said to myself. And because you never know who else is listening, I added, 'And there is nothing under the bed.' --Dexter

It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being. Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters spelled out a single small word: BOO. The three torsos were carefully arranged below the BOO in a quarter-circle, making a cute little Halloween smile. What a scamp.

Perhaps Dexter's dutiful but uninspired brain pictured him as Sherlock Holmes, able to examine the wheel ruts and deduce that a left-handed hunchback with red hair and a limp had gone down the road carrying a Cuban cigar and a ukulele. I would find no clues, not that it mattered.

Vince had answered the door in a body-hugging satin gown with a basket of fruit on his head. "J. Edgar Hoover?" I asked him.

Art was creating something new, not mimicking something already in existence. What

I went to bed and slid immediately into sleep, visions of dollar bills dancing in my head. They were all waving good-bye. It

Ah, well. At least religion was responsible for some nice pictures, and that should count for something.

loud musical voices from the bottom floor of your brain that try to send you reeling along the path, no matter how urgent they have become in the rippling light of the moon.

I was like a little boy playing war, yelling, Bang, bang! Gotcha!, and looking up to see a real Sherman tank rolling right at me. It

I know it was totally illogical, but I found myself vastly annoyed with Jackie, as if she had butted in on purpose. But to my much greater surprise, I found that I was still aroused in reality, and not just in my imagination. Was it from thinking of the victim—or from thinking about Jackie Forrest? I didn't know, and that was even more annoying.

anything that might be

I encourage everyone who works with children to remember to occasionally pause and try to think like a child. I think you'll be glad you did.