Quotes About Imagination

Once you lose the discipline of functionality as a design guidepost, the imagination runs amok.

Sometimes good ideas spring from having a sense of where you want to go, of having a vision of the next level of products.

No fiction, no myths, no lies, no tangled webs - this is how Irie imagined her homeland. Because homeland is one of the magical fantasy words like unicorn and soul and infinity that have now passed into language.

That girl,' tutted Alsana as her front door slammed, 'swallowed an encyclopedia and a gutter at the same time.

Art is the Western myth, with which we both console ourselves and make ourselves.

Early on, for better or worse, I chose whose child I wanted to be: the child of the novel. Almost everything else was subjugated to this ruling passion, reading stories. As a consequence, I can barely add a column of double digits, I have not the slightest idea of how a plane flies, I can't draw any better than a five-year-old.

We were the first generation to have, in our own homes, the means to re- and forward-wind reality: even very small children could press their fingers against those clunky buttons and see what-has-been become what-is or what-will-be.

A dream was a house your brain made without your permission, precisely to preserve memories and experiences and wayward impulses for all eternity, even the dead ones that only caused you pain, the ones from which you most wanted to be free.

I couldn't imagine her leaving this world without ripping its fabric.

Magical thinking makes you crazy — and renders everything possible.

To a novelist, fluidity is the ultimate good omen; suddenly difficult problems are simply solved, intractable structural knots loosen themselves, and you come upon the key without even recognizing that this is what you hold.

she was someone who lived in her own dreamscape, who presumed that everyone around her was at all times feeling exactly as she was.

We worried for her. We tend to assume the worst, here in Willesden. We watched her watching the shuttlecock. Pock, smash. Pock, smash. As if one player could imagine only a violent conclusion and the other only a hopeful return.

No matter what Jody did, she said nothing. She had learned how to talk some and leave some. She was a rut in the road. Plenty of life beneath the surface but it was kept beaten down by the wheels. Sometimes she stuck out into the future, imagining her life different from what it was. But mostly she lived between her hat and her heels, with her emotional disturbances like shade patterns in the woods—come and gone with the sun.

Novels are what I know, and the novel door in my personality is always open.

It's a part of what art is here to imagine for us and with us. (I'm a sentimental humanist: I believe art is here to help, even if the help is painful—especially then.)

fiction can't be written to comply with winning arguments.

Don't let your mind set limits that aren't really there.

She dressed for a future not yet with us but which she expected to arrive.

Writing is routinely described as creative —this has never struck me as a correct word. Planting tulips is creative. To plant a bulb(I imagine, I've never done it) is to participate in some small way in the cyclic miracle of creation. Writing is control.

And perhaps for my mother this dream was the truth, and just by dreaming it she felt she had brought it to pass.

That girl," tutted Alsana as her front door slammed. "Swallowed an encyclopedia and a gutter at the same time.

Yet a world in which no one, from policymakers to adolescents, can imagine themselves as abject corpses—a world consisting only of thrusting, vigorous men walking boldly out of frame—will surely prove a demented and difficult place in which to live. A world of illusion.

He peered down the hallway at the shadowy form of Joyce through the glass and scratched his testicles, sadly.