Quotes About Imagination

Forever the dream is in the mind, realization in the hands.

I want to let myself die and live in dreams.

I really like Septimus Heap. he is my favorite guy in the story. I should make you all read it.

The Young Army was crazy. Marcia was Magyk.

Barney," she said, "would you like to help me look for a stupid giant banana?" Barney grinned. "Ooh, yes please," he said.

Theodophilus Fortitude Fry

Both Septimus and Beetle knew enough to recognize a jinnee when they saw one, and Wolf Boy knew quite enough to recognize something extremely weird.

Cerys watched her open the door and struggle to squeeze inside. "Zelda?" Cerys called. "Yes?" puffed Aunt Zelda, poking her head out of the cupboard with some difficulty. "It is possible to eat an Enlarging Spell without realising it, do you suppose?" Aunt Zelda looked puzzled. "I shouldn't think so," she said. "Why?" "No reason. I just wondered.

Wolf Boy thought he wouldn't know one notice from another. And anyway, what was a Quarantine? Wolf Boy imagined a horrible monster,

Do you have a Boggart?" she asked Broda. Broda looked surprised. "You want a Boggart?

Maar Brandneus negeerde Jannit. Hij vond het verveld als mensen met hun armen zwaaiden en dingen riepen als: 'Hierheen, híérheen! O, alle gaffelschoeners nog aan toe, wat doet dat beest nu weer?

Nee, Nick, het is Ongezien, ongehoord, geen gefluister, niet een woord. En je moet het je ook voorstellen. Het heeft geen zin die spreuk af te raffelen als een demente papegaai. - Septimus

Although Septimus knew he was not really squashed at all, he

Thomas (1844–1916), American painter

Fiction writing is a kind of magic. If I communicate the magic spell . . . it loses its force for me.

poetry is a way of seeing and that a poet is not so much a person skilled with words as a person who recognizes the poetry that exists all the time all around us.

As I lay there in my bed, with only the armor of my eyelids shut tight, I learned to completely leave my body. I learned to develop my escape fantasies into plans.

Yes! Art is a conversation!

Artists don't make objects. Artists make mythologies.

Often when I imagine you your wholeness cascades into many shapes. You run like a herd of luminous deer and I am dark, I am forest. You are a wheel at which I stand, whose dark spokes sometimes catch me up, revolve me nearer to the center.

Never Yet Spoken I believe in all that has never yet been spoken. I want to free what waits within me so that what no one has dared to wish for may for once spring clear without my contriving. From The Book of Hours I, 12

And the curious thing was that Dr Weis had never met anyone, man or woman, friend or colleague, who could stand literature when not on the page.

Only the fantasy of choice remained.

And the curious thing was that Dr Weiss had never met anyone, man or woman, friend or colleague, who could stand literature when not on the page.