Quotes About Imagination

The modern notion of art is an essentially religious or magical one in which the artist is viewed as a holy beast who in some way, big or small, receives flashes from the godhead, which is known as creativity.

There's only one test of a great children's book, or a great children's film, and that is this: If it can be read or viewed with pleasure by adults, then it has the chance to be a great children's film, or a great children's book.

Being imaginative and playful doesn't make you any less of an adult," Gabriel said gently. "It only makes you a more interesting one.

How careful she always was with books: they had been her companions, her entertainment, and her only window to the outside world.

Father, wouldn't it be wonderful if hummingbirds had tea parties and we were small enough to be invited?

West lounged on the floor between her two sons, a heavy forelock of dark hair falling over his forehead. "What does a chicken say?" he asked Stephen, holding up a wooden figure. The toddler took it from him and answered, "Rowwr!" West blinked in surprise and began to chuckle along with Justin. "By God, that is a fierce chicken.

You've never been here before," he said. "You're wrong." He shook his head. "I'd have remembered you." "Actually," she said in a hushed voice, "I'm not here now. This isn't happening at all. You're just visiting a dream of mine." "Am I?" He bent his head, his smiling mouth very close to hers. His breath was warm against her lips. "Then don't wake up, angel. I'd like to stay awhile.

Is that how you play?" Daisy asked breezily. "I just envision how I want the bowl to go, and then I roll it.

Isn't it too late at night to begin something like this?" "Not when one has a dire case of imagine-somnia.

I refuse to believe that we're going to go through life without something magical happening

Daisy loved to read, having fueled her imagination with so many books that, were they laid end to end, would probably extend from one side of England to the other. She was charming, whimsical, fun-loving, but- and here was the odd thing about Daisy- she was also a solidly rational person, coming up with insights that were nearly always correct.

Yes, something [book] to transport your mind from where and who and what you are. Everyone needs that. A time or two in my past, it seemed that a book was the only thing that stood between me and near insanity.

Rhys tried to imagine what his mother would make of this subtle, incandescent creature with a mind full of books and music in her fingers. "She'll think you're too pretty. And too soft. She doesn't understand your kind of strength." Helen looked pleased. "You think I'm strong?" "I do," he said without hesitation. "You have a will like a steel blade.

He's not like anyone else I've ever met. His brilliant mind won't let him view anything, even his wife, in a conventional way. He sees more potential in me than I've imagined for myself. I'll admit, I'm surprised by how much I like it.

Although Daisy was still an innocent, she understood enough of sexual matters to be aware that one's body could respond to a man without any involvement of the heart. As she had once responded to Cam Rohan. It disconcerted her to realize she was drawn to Matthew Swift in that same way. Such different men, one romantic, one reserved. One a handsome young gypsy who had stirred her imagination with exotic possibilities... one a man of business, hard-eyed and ambitious and pragmatic.

Last night was remarkably clear. I looked up at the sky to find the Argo. I'm terrible at constellations. I can never make out any of them except for Orion and his belt. But the longer I stared, the more the sky seemed like an ocean, and then I saw an entire fleet of ships made of stars. A flotilla was anchored at the moon, while others were casting off. I imagined we were on one of those ships, sailing on moonlight.

not a day goes by when I am not thinking of you you are like an open field full of ocean waves – to run through and never get wet but almost. this is the way I want to go home in a place – where the curtains are sails – bulging go break the fence post the houses want to run away

He imagines Owens' body dotted with saltwater reservoirs just below the skin. An entire wetland, populated with tiny fish and birds, thriving in his agitation. A species of dwarf crocodile lazing beside an artery.

With my daughter, we do arts and crafts, we read a lot, we listen to music, and we cut the strings off balloons and bounce them around after birthday parties.

I always wanted to make a children's album because you have the freedom to explore so many wonderful topics and sounds.

it is necessary to act within but to think beyond our received humanist tradition and, all the while, to imagine a much more complicated set of stories about the emergence of the now, in which what is foreclosed as unknowable is forever saturating the "what-can-be-known." We are left with the project of visualizing, mourning, and thinking "other humanities" within this received genealogy of "the human.

I tried not to think of Uncle Ray as being gone forever. I just liked to imagine him on one really long Lost Weekend.

Would you say that Owen is satisfied with his career?" Burns asked. Luna shrugged. She'd met few men who were satisfied. Few women as well. Was she satisfied? She wouldn't know how to answer that question. "I think he imagined a different life. But he accepted the life he had.

What a writer brought to a book didn't matter as much as what the reader contributed.