Quotes About Imagination

You are going to say that I am amusing myself and that because I do not know what to do with my two travellers any more, I am throwing myself into allegory, which is the usual recourse of sterile minds.

But how do you know that the whole world hasn't its meninges, or that there isn't a big or little spider living in some corner of space with threads extending everywhere?

Once in a while I lie there, as the television runs, and I read something wild and ancient from one of several collections of folktales I own. Apples that summon sea maidens, eggs that fulfill any wish, pears that make people grow long noses that fall off again. Then sometimes I get up and don my robe and go out into our quiet neighborhood looking for a magic thread, a magic sword, a magic horse.

Think of being curled up and floating in a darkness. Even if you could think, even if you had an imagination, would you ever imagine its opposite, this miraculous world the Asian Taoists call the Ten Thousand Things? And if the darkness just got darker? And then you were dead? What would you care? How would you even know the difference?

eventually these encounters forced him to acknowledge the reality of fate, and the truth inherent in things of the imagination.

The women were blank, shining areas with photographs of sad girls floating in them.

Now he slept soundly through the nights, and often he dreamed of trains, and often of one particular train: He was on it; he could smell the coal smoke; a world went by. And then he was standing in that world as the sound of the train died away. A frail familiarity in these scenes hinted to him that they came from his childhood. Sometimes he woke to hear the sound of the Spokane International fading up the valley and realized he'd been hearing the locomotive as he dreamed.

I felt the stirring even of parts of me that had been dead since childhood, that sense of the child as a sort of antenna stuck in the middle of an infinite expanse of possibilities.

You know there is a cycle of imagining and desire, desire and death, death and birth, birth and imagining. And we have been tempted into its mouth. And it has swallowed us.

Psy Ops is all about unusual thinking, man. We want ideas blown up right to where they're gonna pop. We're on the cutting edge of reality itself. Right where it turns into a dream.

under Midwestern clouds like great grey brains

Life after death, ghosts, Paradise, eternity--of course, we take all that as granted. Otherwise where's the fun?

One night Shay heard the quiet murmur of his voice, punctuated by Olivia's giggles. She shuffled across the living room and listened around the corner. He was reading aloud to her, imitating each character's voice. Shay listened to his falsetto, a grin tugging her lips at the incongruity of a cowboy reading The Princess Diaries.

You can have mythic allusions in houses with flat roofs, and you can also play on the roof.

Will they remember us, Aravan? Will Mankind remember us at all? ... Mayhap, Gwylly, mayhap. Mayhap in their legends and their fables. Mayhap in naught but their dreams.

It had occurred to Sean once - on a bender about ten years before with some buddies, Sean and a bloodstream full of bourbon turning philosophical - that maybe they HAD gotten in that car. All three of them. And what they now thought of as their life was just a dream state. That all three of them were, in reality, still eleven-year-old boys trapped in some cellar, imagining what they'd become if they ever escaped and grew up.

It's like I'm in a beautiful library but none of the books have titles.

Good movies, man, they give you another life. A whole other future for a while.

That the thought of what could have been his life sometimes haunted him, hovered around approaching corners, rode the breeze like the echo of a name called from a window.

Why within limits? You apparently consider levitation impossible, but wouldn't you have considered wireless impossible if you had been living fifty years ago and somebody had endeavoured to convince you of it?

That is the effort, the labour of the Antillean imagination, rebuilding its gods from bamboo frames, phrase by phrase.

I'll leave it to you, Sassenach, he said dryly, to imagine what it feels like to arrive unexpectedly in the midst of a brothel, in possession of a verra large sausage.

So now it's space and time, he said. You ever watch Doctor Who on PBS? All the time, she said dryly, on the BBC. And don't think I wouldn't sell my soul for a TARDIS.

I thought I could make out Jamie's Highland screech, but that was likely imagination; they all sounded equally demented.