Quotes About Imagination

For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions unstable as water.

The world only exists in your eyes. You can make it as big or as small as you want it.

I have lived so long within the circle of this book [Tender Is The Night] and with these characters that often it seems to me that the real world does not exist but that only these characters exist, and, however pretentious that remark sounds....it is an absolute fact---so much so that their glees and woes are just exactly as important to me as what happens in life.

AMORY WRITES A POEM

Let's build a town where

Gatsby, he had a grand vision for his life since he was a boy. No amount of fire could ever challenge the fairy tale he had stored up in his heart

Thoughts are Things; things that have a tendency to transform into our reality.

I think that voice held him most with its fluctuating feverish warmth because it couldn't be over-dreamed.

Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace.

No child ever receives a box of colored crayons and says, "What's the point? I can't draw." Nor does she reject a jar of modeling dough because sculpture is too complicated. If you give him a guitar, he gets sounds out of it without fuss. If you ask her to sing, she doesn't refuse to because she doesn't know the words or because she hasn't got a perfect voice: she simply takes a breath, opens her mouth and belts it out!

It was a stretch to imagine that Barbara Walters might want to give it all up for Ed Couch, but Evelyn tried her hardest. Of course, even though she was not religious, it was a comfort to know that the Bible backed her up in being a doormat.

The band did a salute to Stephen Foster and played 'Beautiful Dreamer' and we formed a bed. Then we played 'My Old Kentucky Home' while the majorettes slowly pranced like horses. We finished with 'I Dream of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair', we formed a comb. Miss Philpot is running out of ideas if you ask me.

Ida had always been different. At school, when all the kids used to play church, and one would be the preacher, another the preacher's wife, a deacon, and the choir leader, and some would be the parishioners who had come to the church, Ida said she wanted to be God, because she was the only one who knew how to do it. Of

See what I mean? She thinks she sees all kinds of things out in the yard. Last week it was flying turtles." She walked over and picked up his dishes. "I'm not sure if it was that fall she took a while ago or just her age; she's older than God.

Even when I was failing math and everything else and I was feeling so bad about myself, you sat down with me and said, "Honey, there are those who do well at math, and then there are those, like yourself, who have been blessed with a creative mind and a wonderful imagination. I just know you are going on to do great things." You'll never know how you changed my life that day.

Because, honey, she said, after you've been to the moon, where else is there to go?

Science is based on nothing other than what-ifs, and skepticism with regard to the preconceived notions that make up the material world.

The marsh toads interviewed the eagle 'How come you venture so high? Aren't you scared you'll hit the ceiling That blue metal dome they call the sky?' The eagle knew these earth-bound creatures Were ignorant of boundless space And couldn't conceive of infinities Not being born to the wind's embrace." From Bachchoo's Fables

kore hodo to / botan no shikata / suru ko kana "The peony was as big as this, "Says the little girl Opening her arms.

Even after waking From the dream I'll see the colors of irises.

Truly Alice, books are wonderful things; to sit alone in a room and laugh and cry, because you are reading, and still be safe when you close the book; and having finished it, discover you are changed, yet unchanged! To be able to visit the City of Invention at will, depart at will – that is all, really, education is about, should be about.

Truly, books are wonderful things; to sit alone in a room and laugh and cry, because you are reading, and still be safe when you close the book; and having finished it, discover you are changed, yet unchanged!

Fortunately, there is more to life than death. There is for one thing, fiction. A thousand thousand characters to be sent marching out into the world to divert time from its forward gallop to the terrible horizon.

Writing fiction (that means I make up stuff) is like having a free GO PAST GO card. You can write pretty much whatever you want, burn down a building, maim or kill a character, you can create love, hate, payback. You can create fictional places that over time actually become real to you the writer, and also to the reader. For example, Pinewood, where the vigilantes hang out, is a fictional farm in McLean, Virginia.