Quotes About Imagination

Belief is the enemy of a storyteller

I can see myself sitting all day in my chair, immersed in lives, plots, and sentences, intoxicated by words and chimeras, paralyzed by satisfaction and contentment, reading until the deepening twilight, until I can no longer make out the words, until my mind begins to wander, until my aching muscles are no longer able to keep the book aloft. Joy is the anticipation of joy. Reading a fine book for the first time is as sumptuous as the first sip of orange juice that breaks the fast in Ramadan.

Reality never meets our wants, and adjusting both is why we tell stories.

Nessuna perdita viene avvertita più profondamente della perdita di ciò che sarebbe potuto essere. Nessuna nostalgia fa male quanto la nostalgia per le cose che non sono mai esistite.

Listen. Allow me to be your god. Let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story.

Writing one's story narcotizes it. Literature today is an opiate.

Transmuting this sandy metaphor, if literature is my sandbox, then the real world is my hourglass—an hourglass that drains grain by grain. Literature gives me life, and life kills me. Well, life kills everyone.

Nicio pierdere nu se simte mai acut decat pierderea a ceea ce ar fi putut sa fie. Nicio nostalgie nu doare la fel de mult ca nostalgia dupa lucrurile care n-au existat niciodata.

Literatura e groapa mea cu nisip. E locul meu de joaca, in ea imi construiesc fortaretele si castelele, acolo petrec momente glorioase.

We are all children when we sleep.

Anna Karenina was the first time I allowed a book and its world into my house.

Le melodie ascoltate sono dolci, ma più dolci ancora sono quelle inascoltate, scrisse Keats. Nessuna perdita viene avvertita più profondamente della perdita di ciò che sarebbe potuto essere. Nessuna nostalgia fa male quanto la nostalgia per le cose che non sono mai esistite.

I can imagine her memories of the novel, or, more likely, of who she was and how she felt when reading it.

I wondered at times whether I would wake up and this would be just a bad dream, a nightmare that I could wish away, I had the same fantasy when you were sick, Doc, that I would one day wake up and you all would be healthy and alive.

I imagine looking at the room through a stranger's eyes. Books everywhere, stacks and stacks, shelves and bookcases, stacks atop each shelf, I in the creaky chair that hasn't been reupholstered since I bought it in the early sixties. I have been its only occupant; years ago its foam molded into the shape of my posterior. The accompanying ottoman holds two stacks of books that haven't been disturbed in years, except for semiweekly dusting.

No nostalgia is felt as keenly as nostalgia for things that never existed. I

From Pessoa: "Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me.

The singer has everything within him. The notes come out from his very life. They are not materials gathered from outside.

What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real.

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.

Inspiration follows aspiration.

Dreams can never be made captive.

The Stronger is the imagination the less imaginary it is

Purity, they imagined, was only becoming in those on whom fortune had not smiled. It is the moon which has room or stains, not the stars.