Quotes About Imagination

most people unconsciously dream themselves out of their goals. They dream so far past their current reality—or what's currently possible—that they end up abandoning their goals and damaging their own self-esteem.

Consider this: on the first day of creation, before God picked up the pen to scribble in stars and moon, sun and sky (and the sea monsters of the deep); the Lord God looked at the margins around and wondered what might come to life in those edges of existence. What we would see as void and empty, God saw as opportunity. Eugene Peterson, in The Message, describes it this way: "Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness" (Genesis 1:2).

Other branes might be parallel to ours and might house parallel worlds. But many other types of braneworld might exist too. Branes could intersect and particles could be trapped at the intersections. Branes could have different dimensionality. They could curve. They could move. They could wrap around unseen invisible dimensions. Let your imagination run wild and draw any picture you like. It is not impossible that such a geometry exists in the cosmos.

But speculation is the only way to make progress in our understanding.

Until then," he says, all velvet and seduction, "I'll be fantasizing about the moment when the only thing wrapped around me is you.

Delusion needs an architecture;

Some fantasies are wigs and some are crinolines. Some fantasies are aleatory grottos or downspouts.

How can we not create a fantasy in our minds when the reality is so hard?

It was an octopus with one eye. A Cyclops octopus. I'd call it a cyclopoctopus until a better name came along.

It was always a dream house, and like a dream, it has no end.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there. The palace started as a single vaulted room and grew in proportion to my despair. It began as an exercise to keep my mind from its melancholy, then it became a dream and a necessity. . . . I built a temple in my head. . . . Its hallways were as lofty as a cathedral, and the arch of each window as supple as a bow. Its corridors were the passages of my own brain.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there.

If I were a lucky girl I would have won the lottery or something. Maybe I had, I thought, staring dreamily at Marcello.

Off course, if Steven had a wife in the attic, like Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre, that, I thought, would be another matter entirely. But the very idea made me laugh. His building had no attic, and his one small closet couldn't even hold a skeleton. It was too packed with clothes, his and mine.

OBJECTS IN DREAMS MAY BE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR

Books made me believe that smart girls who didn't necessarily fit in with the popular crowd could be the ones to solve mysteries, rescue people in distress, ferret out international criminals, fly spaceships to distant planets, take up arms and fight battles. Books showed me that not all fathers understand their daughters or even seek to, but that people can turn out okay despite that. Books made me feel beautiful when I wasn't. Capable when I couldn't be.

Sometimes a world that doesn't exist is the only escape from the one that does.

No two readers read the same book, because we all see the words through different eyes, filter the story through different life experiences

Books made me believe that smart girls who didn't necessarily fit in with the popular crowd could be the ones to solve mysteries, rescue people in distress, ferret out international criminals, fly spaceships to distant planets, take up arms and fight battles... Books made me feel beautiful when I wasn't. Capable when I couldn't be. Books built my identity.

You let a possibility into your mind, you let it into your life.

I live too often in the realm of what if. I also expend time and mental energy continually trying to anticipate what sort of crouching tiger might be hiding around the next corner.

I wish I had not spent my hours worrying over another nickel for the carousel, but instead running barefoot through the fields of yellow bonnets.

The future is a blank page, but not a mystery.

Life is not unlike cinema. Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand. No matter how much we may love the melody of a bygone day or imagine the song of a future one, we must dance within the music of today, or we will always be out of step, stumbling around in something