Quotes About Imagination

And I've thought of a way to help you with the concept of color. Close your eyes and be still, now. I'm going to give you a memory of a rainbow.

A lot of people I know would hate that ending, but not me. I loved it. Mainly because I got to make the book happy. I decided they made it. They made it to the past. I decided the past was our world, and the future was their world. It was parallel worlds.

Kira closed her eyes, thought, and said them aloud. Madder for red. Bedstraw for red too, just the roots. Tops of tansy for yellow, and greenwood for yellow too. And yarrow: yellow and gold. Dark hollyhocks, just the petals, for mauve.... Broom sedge, she added, still remembering. Goldy yellows and browns. And Saint Johnswort for browns too, but it'll stain my hands. And bronze fennel--leaves and flowers; use them fresh--and you can eat it too. Chamomile for tea and for green hues.

there would be no way for anyone to get caught in the act of wondering

Walter cares more about what a book has to say than he does about whether he can turn it into a stuffed animal or a calendar or a movie.

NEFARIOUS means utterly, completely wicked. The character in The Wizard of Oz could have been called the Nefarious Witch of the West but authors like to use the same beginning consonant, often. Perhaps L. Frank Baum crossed out nefarious after wicked came to his mind. Thank goodness, because Nefarious would be a terrible name for a musical.

Mama was out shopping with Kirsti, Annemarie and Ellen were sprawled on the living room floor playing with paper dolls. They had cut the dolls from Mama's magazines, old ones she had saved from past years. The paper ladies had old-fashioned hair styles and clothes, and the girls had given them names from Mama's very favorite book. Mama had told Annemarie and Ellen the entire story of Gone With the

The books in his own dwelling were the only books that Jonas had ever seen. He had never known that other books existed. But this room's walls were completely covered by bookcases, filled, which reached to the ceiling. There must have been hundreds—perhaps thousands—of books, their titles embossed in shiny letters. Jonas stared at them. He couldn't imagine what the thousands of pages contained.

Artist?" Thomas suggested. "That's a word. I've never heard anyone say it, but I've read it in some of the books. It means, well, someone who is able to make something beautiful. Would that be the word?

Maybe it is something that artists have," she said, liking the sound of the word she had just learned. "A special kind of magic knowledge.

We're the ones who fill in the blank spaces. Maybe we can make it different.

Some books had shiny pages that showed paintings of landscapes unlike anything Matty had ever seen, or of people costumed in odd ways, or of battles, and there were many quiet painted scenes of a woman holding a newborn child.

But each time a child opens a book, he pushes open the gate that separates him from Elsewhere.

A book, to me, is almost sacrosanct: such an individual and private thing. The reader brings his or her own history and beliefs and concerns, and reads in solitude, creating each scene from his own imagination as he does.

But this room's walls were completely covered by bookcases, filled, which reached to the ceiling. There must have been hundreds—perhaps thousands—of books, their titles embossed in shiny letters.

story?" "Of course you do," Gooney Bird told him.

Let's experiment. Someone must have figured it out once, in order to write a book. Why can't we do the same thing?

A book with no pictures lets you make your own pictures in your mind. A guy who writes a book like that really trusts the people who read it to make the kind of pictures he wants them to. Of course he helps them along with the words.

Artist?' Thomas suggested. 'That's a word. I've never heard anyone say it, but I've read it in some of the books. It means, well, someone who makes something beautiful. Would that be a word?

He saw all of the light and colour and history it contained and carried in its slow-moving water; and he knew that there was an Elsewhere from which it came, and an Elsewhere to which it was going.

eight books every week from the time she was two—she had taken more than four thousand books out of that library.

When I was very young, about four, I had a friend names Modest Storewrecker.

Things could change, Gabe, Jonas went on. Things could be different. I don't know how, but there must be some way for things to be different. There could be colours. And grandparents he added

I have a wonderful idea. Maybe when you become a Twelve, they'll give you the Assignment of Storyteller!