Quotes About Imagination

When little is known, much is imagined.

It is often said that one has but one life to live, but that is nonsense. For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography, and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in many parts of the world, in all periods of time.

that to think great thoughts you must be heroes as well as idealists.

statistical fiction

An idea doesn't die, said Trapp. It exists somewhere, in its own dimension, waiting to be perceived.

Doesn't every kid want to dig a hold to China? Didn't you? What about Chinese children?

Dana had four beautiful eyes. She wore glasses. But her eyes were so beautiful that the glasses only made her prettier. With two eyes she was pretty. With four eyes she was beautiful. With six eyes she would have been even more beautiful. And if she had a hundred eyes, all over her face and her arms and her feet, why, she would have been the most beautiful creature in the world.

There is no Miss Zarves. There is no nineteenth story. Sorry.

He sometimes daydreamed about sitting beside her in a beautiful meadow and just counting her freckles.

up. It hit somewhere between the eighteenth and twentieth story. And never came down. There was no nineteenth story.

19 Miss Zarves There is no Miss Zarves. There is no nineteenth story. Sorry.

Kachooga Boop

Miss Zarves taught the class on the nineteenth story. There was no Miss Zarves.

I wonder who she was, said Zero. Who? Mary Lou, said Zero. Stanley smiled. I guess she was once a real person on a real lake. It's hard to imagine. I bet she was pretty, said Zero. Somebody must have loved her a lot, to name a boat after her. Yeah, said Stanley. I bet she looked great in a bathing suit, sitting in the boat while her boyfriend rowed.

Such hours are beautiful to live, but hard to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness.

She preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.

Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could come true and we could live in them?

and best of all, the wilderness of books, in which she could wander, where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her.

and Jo laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the work-a-day world again.

I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle--something heroic, or wonderful--that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day. I think I shall write books, and get rich and famous; that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream.

A child her wayward pencil drew On margins of her book; Garlands of flower, dancing elves, Bud, butterfly, and brook, Lessons undone, and plum forgot, Seeking with hand and heart The teacher whom she learned to love Before she knew t'was Art.

nothing seemed impossible in the beginning…

The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and curling herself up in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm.

When the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh.