Quotes About Imagination

Y era como la vaga y desagradable idea de que sin darnos cuenta, habíamos estado bromeando con estas grandes fuerzas elementales en cuyo poder estábamos indefensos, cada hora del día y de la noche. Pues aquí, sin duda, estaban en juego poderes gigantescos, cuyo solo aspecto visual estimulaba ya la imaginación.

When common objects in this way be come charged with the suggestion of horror, they stimulate the imagination far more than things of unusual appearance; and these bushes, crowding huddled about us, assumed for me in the darkness a bizarre grotesquerie of appearance that lent to them somehow the aspect of purposeful and living creatures. Their very ordinariness, I felt, masked what was malignant and hostile to us.

The dark side of life, and the horror of it, belonged to a world that lay remote from his own select little atmosphere of books and dreamings.

Adventures come to the adventurous, and mysterious things fall in the way of those who, with wonder and imagination, are on the watch for them; but the majority of people go past the doors that are half ajar, thinking them closed, and fail to notice the faint stirrings of the great curtain that hangs ever in the form of appearances between them and the world of causes behind.

She had dreamed that she lay beneath a spreading tree somewhere, a tree that whispered with ten thousand soft lips of green; and the dream continued for a moment even after waking.

To sleep, to swim, and to dream, for ever.

His imagination conceived and bore - worlds but nothing in these worlds became alive until he discovered its true and living name. The name was the breath of life and, sooner or later, he invariably found it.

You never know if you're a writer. You can't trust it. If you woke up and said, 'I'm a writer ' it would be gone. You wouldn't see anything for miles - even the dust would be running away.

There's always, there'll always be, more story. That's what story is.

Think how quiet a book is on a shelf, he said, just sitting there, unopened. Then think what happens when you open it.

What I do when it distresses me that there's something I can't remember, is. Are you listening? Yes, Elisabeth said through the crying. I imagine that whatever it is I've forgotten is folded close to me, like a sleeping bird. What kind of bird? Elisabeth said. A wild bird, Daniel said. Any kind. You'll know what kind when it happens. Then, what I do is, I just hold it there, without holding it to tight, and I let it sleep. And that's that.

Now what we don't want is Facts. What we want is bewilderment. What we want is repetition. What we want is repetition.

Words were stories in themselves.

There's no point in making up a world, Elisabeth said, when there's already a real world, There's just the world, and there's the truth about the world. You mean there's the truth, and there's the made-up version of it that we get told about the world, Daniel said. No. The world exists. Stories are made up, Elisabeth said. But no less true for that, Daniel said.

All short stories long.

There's always, there'll always be, more story. That's what story is...It's the never-ending leaf-fall.

where would we be without our ability to see beyond what it is we're supposed to be seeing.

It feels a little dangerous, to be so close to fairy tale.

This story is true and happened once in the future long ago.

Because when I think about what it was like to live with you, it was like all these things. It was like living in a poem or a picture, a story, a piece of music, when I think of it now. It was wonderful.

Daniel in the gallery sees one of her hands, the one on the rail of the witness box, cover itself in little shoots and buds. The buds split open. There are leaves coming out of her fingers.

She came right up to the side of the building as if she were coming round its corner and simply sort of reading the sign because that's what she was, a girl reading the world.

What I do when it distresses me that there's something I can't remember, is. Are you listening? Yes, Elisabeth said through the crying. I imagine that whatever it is I've forgotten is folded close to me, like a sleeping bird. What kind of bird? Elisabeth said. A wild bird, Daniel said. Any kind. You'll know what kind when it happens. Then, what I do is, I just hold it there, without holding it too tight, and I let it sleep. And that's that.

Got a light? See? Careful. I'm everything you ever dreamed.