Quotes About Imagination

Let's sum up... a little house, white and green or to be made so... with trees, preferably birch and spruce... a window looking seaward... on a hill. That sounds very possible... but there is one other requirement. There must be magic about it, Jane... lashings of magic... and magic houses are scarce, even on the Island. Have you any idea at all what I mean, Jane? Jane reflected. You want to feel that the house is yours before you buy it, she said. Jane, said dad, you are too good to be true.

I'm so glad you're here, Anne,' said Miss Lavendar, nibbling at her candy. 'If you weren't I should be blue…very blue…almost navy blue. Dreams and make-believes are all very well in the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they fail to satisfy. One wants real things then. But you don't know this…seventeen never knows it. At seventeen dreams do satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you further on.

We _are_ rich,' said Anne staunchly. 'Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we are as happy as queens and we've all got imaginations, more or less. Look at that sea, girls - all silver and shallow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.

She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with a dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wandering afar, star-led.

Imagination is what you need.

Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse.

If the bards of old the true has told The sirens have raven hair. But over the earth since art had birth, They paint the angels fair.

How fair the realm Imagination opens to the view

The eastern sky above the firs was flushed faintly pink from the reflection of the west, and Anne was wondering dreamily if the spirit of color looked like that…

Velvet carpet, sighed Anne luxuriously, and silk curtains! I've dreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don't believe I feel very comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in this room and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That is one consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you can imagine about.

Anne Shirley. Anne with an e.

Oh, Gilbert, don't let's ever grow too old and wise... no, not too old and silly for fairyland.

Then Diana puts too many murders into [her stories]. She says most of the time she doesn't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them.

ANNE: You said you'd keep me in my room until I confessed. I just thought up a good confession and made it as interesting as I could. MARILLA: But it was still a lie. ANNE: You wouldn't believe the truth.

Well, I don't know, said the Story Girl thoughtfully. I think there are two kinds of true thing - true things that are , and true things that are not , but might be.

If a kiss could be seen it would look like a violet.

Lovely thoughts came flying to meet me like birds. They weren't my thoughts. I couldn't think anything half so exquisite. They came from somewhere.

There are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining more.

he world looks like something God had just imagined for His own pleasure. This isn't poetry but it makes me feel the same way as poetry does.

She thought in exclamation points

Do you never imagine things different from what they really are? asked Anne wide-eyed. No. Oh! Anne drew a long breath. Oh, Miss--Marilla, how much you miss!

You make me believe in fairies, whether I will or no, he told her, and that means youth. As long as you believe in fairies you can't grow old.

But was anything in life, Anne asked herself wearily, like one's imagination of it? It was the old diamond disillusion of childhood repeated - the same disappointment she had felt when she had first seen the chill sparkle instead of the purple splendor she had anticipated. That's not my idea of a diamond, she had said.

She said that everything had colour in her thought; the months of the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the days of the week were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, noon orange, evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to her mind robed in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice and words had such a charm, conveying to the listeners' perception such fine shadings of meaning and tint and music.