Quotes About Imagination

you find in someone what you've been waiting for your whole life? Do you call it fate? It feels lazy to call it fate. It's more like finding your way home—where home is a place you secretly hoped for, a place you imagined, but where you'd never before been. Home. When you weren't sure you'd ever get to have one. That's what

The part where you need to choose among the choices that are there, and not the ones that aren't anymore. At least not how you need them to be. You're still stuck on some imaginary idea you have of how it could have been. You need to think about how it is now. And how you want it to be.

Cómo se puede explicar el hecho de encontrar a alguien a quien has estado esperando toda la vida? ¿Hay que llamarlo «destino»? Me parece demasiado vago llamarlo «destino». Es más bien como encontrar el camino a casa, donde el significado de «casa» es el de un lugar que anhelamos en secreto, un lugar que hemos imaginado, pero en el que nunca antes habíamos estado.

It wasn't just about shaping a block of wood into what you wanted it to be. That it was also a peeling back, to seeing what was inside the wood, what the wood had been before. It was the first step to creating something beautiful. It was the first step to making something out of nothing

La necesidad es la madre de todos los inventos y todas las posturas.

La memoria», le dijo «es ver desde dentro. Es dar forma y color a las palabras. Sin imágenes no hay memoria».

podemos sacar provecho de los beneficios que nos brinda la ficción para sanar nuestras emociones, para escribir nuestra nueva historia con toda libertad

All of a sudden she had a thought that made her run outside to look at the stars.

Mary was bigger than Laura, and she had a rag doll named Nettie. Laura had only a corncob wrapped in a handkerchief, but it was a good doll. It was named Susan. It wasn't Susan's fault that she was only a corncob. Sometimes Mary let Laura hold Nettie, but she did it only when Susan couldn't see.

Laura had only a corncob wrapped in a handkerchief, but it was a good doll. It was named Susan.

For just one little minute she almost wished that Pa was a railroad man. There was nothing so wonderful as railroads, and railroad men were great men, able to drive the big iron engines and the fast, dangerous trains. But of course not even railroad men were bigger or better than Pa, and she did not really want him to be anything but what he was.

What is it about water that affects a person? I never see a great river or lake but I think how I would like to see a world made and watch it through all its changes.

with which he carved the pictures. Laura and Mary were allowed to take Ma's thimble and make pretty patterns of circles in the frost on the glass. But they never spoiled the pictures that Jack Frost had made in the night. When they put their mouths close to the pane and blew their breath on it, the white frost melted and ran in drops down the glass. Then they could see the drifts of snow outdoors and the

They rolled till the balls were almost as tall as Almanzo; then they rolled them into a wall. They packed snow between them, and made a good fort.

I enjoy Mr. Verne's work," she went on brightly. "He writes of such exotic places. But you've seen all that sort of thing in person. I suppose it's nothing to you." "Of course. Giant squids. Cannibals. Every day.

Najtragi?niji oblik gubitka nije gubitak sigurnosti, nego gubitak sposobnosti da zamislimo kako bi život mogao biti druga?iji.

Reading was not a fallback position for her but an ideal state of being.

Good fantasy fiction: ... explores real human conditions through fantastic metaphors which universalize the characters' individual experiences to speak personally to us all.

she saw imaginatively rather than accurately.

the creativity – and competitiveness – within Agatha would not be stilled. Her life was enchantingly ordinary. Her imagination was fierce and unstoppable.

I have always said that a picture book is a palace for a poem. I still believe that.

Dear sir: twelve hours is as twelve years to me. I imagine you in your home, smiling, thinking of me. That I am your heart's secret fills me with song. I wish I could sing of you here in my cage. You are my heart's hidden poem. I reread you, memorize you, every moment we're apart.

Books are boring, James said as he wrote. They line the walls like a thousand leather doorways to be opened into worlds unknown, I offered.

As I look around the quiet room, I see a thousand leather covers like doorways into worlds unknown.