Quotes About Imagination

When the Devil gets bored he tells stories to his bats and these bats fly to us and give us these stories as nightmares.

Nothing bad can happen to a writer. Everything is material.

You had to be there to see what it looked like. They live in a dream, and we live in a nightmare.

Noi siamo, dopotutto, la somma delle nostre esperienze, e l'esperienza comprende non soltanto ciò che facciamo concretamente, ma anche ciò che privatamente immaginiamo.

As far as I can see there is no conquering or exorcising the past with words - words born either of imagination or forthrightness.

Memoirs lie, but fiction tells the truth.

I left the front stoop on Leslie Street, ate of the fruit of the tree of fiction, and nothing, neither reality nor myself, has been the same since.

If you don't know the fantasy life of a country, it's hard to write fiction about it.

Though frankly… Tarnapol, as he is called, is beginning to seem as imaginary as my Zuckermans anyway, or at least as detached from the memoir-ist – his revelations coming to seem like still another "useful fiction," and not because I am telling lies. I am trying to keep to the facts. Maybe all I'm saying is that words, being words, only approximate the real thing, and so no matter how close I come, I only come close.

my imagination I am unfaithful to everybody, by the way, not just to you.

The life he described sounded like paradise to me; that he could think to do nothing better with his time than turn sentences around seemed to me a blessing bestowed not only upon him but upon world literature.

The burden isn't that everything has to be a book. It's that everything can be a book. And doesn't count as life until it is.

I had a teacher I liked who used to say good fiction's job was to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. I guess a big part of serious fiction's purpose is to give the reader, who like all of us is sort of marooned in her own skull, to give her imaginative access to other selves.

The world would be a sadder place without stories.

Yours is a race whose imagination is limited to its own small appetites. Greed, lust, envy - these are the motivating forces of humankind. What redeems you is that in every man and woman there is a seed that can grow to encompass love, joy and compassion. But this seed is never allowed to prosper in fertile ground. It struggles for life among the rocks of your human soul.

The tree bark began to move, forming a face of wood.

This is the real magic of fantasy fiction: it can feed souls and change lives.

As I was going up the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away! —HUGHES MEARNS The Psychoed

It was almost as if they were afraid the grass would grow so tall around us we'd never get out. Some people say you can actually see the grass growing. You can certainly hear it, an endless whispering. Sometimes, you can almost make out the worlds.

Somebody took my hand in his. It felt like Dad's hand. Large and warm and safely enveloping. I knew it had to be Douglas holding my hand, but it was nice to pretend it was Dad for a while.

This time it's our turn to have the good idea.

If you want to feel important and indispensable, read a story to the child on your lap.

If artists, writers and musicians were not just a little delusional, they would all have office jobs.

The place felt sinister, though. Your imagination can get the better of you where a road ends against a forest.