Quotes About Imagination

A mio padre non è mai riuscito di immaginare il mondo privo della sua presenza.

Impiegai un momento a capire. Non l'avrei mai fatto così sfrontato. Ma era naturale che lo fosse. Artista, creatore, inventore, il più grande che il mondo avesse mai conosciuto. La timidezza non crea nulla.

No tengo otro recuerdo de mi madre y es tan perfecto que estoy casi convencido de que es fruto de mi imaginación.

I see his face as if through water, as a fish sees the sun.

Quand les sculpteurs façonnent leur pierre, ils le font d'après lui.

La timidez no crea nada.

In principle, this is a useful idea for writers at all stages: if a good story plot somehow won't work out right, it may be that the point of view is in the wrong place.) There

Never limit yourself because of others' limited imagination; never limit others because of your own limited imagination.

The difference between science and the arts is not that they are different sides of the same coin even, or even different parts of the same continuum, but rather, they are manifestations of the same thing. The arts and sciences are avatars of human creativity.

I only read biographies, metaphysics and psychology. I can dream up my own fiction.

but in our minds these stories remind us that we are always waiting, and remind us of what we are waiting for — a respite, a touch of grace, something simple that starts us wondering. I am reminded of Oliver Goldsmith, who said, two hundred years ago, "Innocently to amuse the imagination in this dream of life is wisdom.

51. You might as well act as if objects had the colors, The Encyclopedia says. –Well, it is as you please. But what would it look like to act otherwise?

two Popsicles are talking to each other. One accuses, "You're more interested in fantasy than reality". The other responds, "I'm interested in the reality of my fantasy." Both of the Popsicles are melting of their sticks.

14. I have enjoyed telling people that I am writing a book about blue without actually doing it.

or stays up all night watching colored shadows drift across the walls? At times I have done all of these things, but not in service of science, nor of philosophy, not even of poetry.

How often I've imagined the bubble of body and breath you and I made, even though by now I can hardly remember what you look like, I can hardly see your face.

In one of my favorites of your drawings, two Popsicles are talking to each other. One accuses, "You're more interested in fantasy than reality." The other responds, "I'm interested in the reality of my fantasy." Both of the Popsicles are melting off their sticks.

For Mallarmé, the perfect book was one whose pages have never been cut, their mystery forever preserved, like a bird's folded wing, or a fan never opened.

Les Bluets, which she painted in 1973

He has a tendency to slip the bounds of the real, tangible world around him and enter another place. He

He has a tendency to slip the bounds of the real, tangible world around him and enter another place.

He has a tendency to slip the bounds of the real, tangible world around him and enter another place. He will sit in a room in body, but in his head he is somewhere else, someone else, in a place known only to him.

Esme is thinking about the hard thing. The difficult one. She does this only rarely. But sometimes she gets the urge and today is one of those days when she seems to see Hugo. In the corner of her eye, a small shape crawling through the shadow in the lee of a door, the space beneath the bed. Or she can hear the pitch of his voice in a chair scraped across the floor. There's no knowing how he might choose to be with her.

Esme began playing the game she often played with herself at times like this, looking over the room and working out how she might get round it without touching the floor. She could climb from the sofa to the low table and, from there, to the fender stool. Along that and then—