Quotes About Imagination

Crazy is the price you pay for having an imagination. It's your superpower. Tapping into the dream. It's a good thing, not a bad thing.

But sometimes we'd spin the moon, and you had to close your eyes and put your finger down to make the spinning stop, and wherever your finger landed, that was your spot, and you had to make up a story about it. It was a good game, but then Mom landed in the Sea of Crisis three times in a row, and Dad kept landing in these tiny places like the Marsh of Diseases and the Lake of Death. He thought it was funny, but it freaked Mom out, so we stopped playing.

Experience soon taught me never to write about anything important to me - the M?oris, animals, the unemployed men, the empty boarded-up houses that frightened me. The subsequent trampling of my sensibilities would have destroyed me. Soon everything I wrote came only from my imagination.

Don't you just love the idea of cooking flowers? I imagine them bursting into bloom, right in the pan.

Hermione was back, holding out a gossamer dress of rainbow chiffon so airy I thought of fireflies on a moonlight night.

That's what I like so much about old libraries - they smell the way we'd like to imagine the past.

We slid along water reds and greens, the changing lights captured in the canvas of wet tar.

but when I told her they didn't cost one penny and were very nutritious (I made that part up, but I'm sure it must be true), she ate them up. She packed them into her lunch pail this morning, and when I looked

And with an inventiveness no one would have suspected from the standard of Stanley's school work:

were altered and aggrandised by enormous fantasy.

Thanks to the imagination, there's no end to things in this world that can trigger anxiety.

He invited me to his apartment in the wee hours one morning and pulled out a set of children's building blocks. It seems he used to ride around and around on the Yamanote Line with them, building castles on the floor of the train.

I keep thinking, won't somebody make a movie like what's inside my head, I'm always thinking that.

What's good about Americans, if I can generalize a little, is that they have a kind of open-hearted innocence. And what's not so good is that they can't imagine any world outside the States, or any value system different than their own.

Kusi?o mnie, ?eby zobaczy?, co jest dalej, po drugiej stronie. Zastanawia?em si?, co si? prze?ywa, przechodz?c granic?. Co si? czuje? Co my?li? Musi to by? moment wielkiej emocji, poruszenia, napi?cia. Po tamtej stronie - jak jest? Na pewno - inaczej. Ale co znaczy to - inaczej? Jaki ma wygl?d? Do czego jest podobne? A mo?e jest niepodobne do niczego, co znam, a tym samym niepoj?te, niewyobra?alne.

Para entender hacia dónde vamos no hace falta fijarse en la política, sino en el arte

A los doce años, James Joyce escribía cartas dignas de atención; yo, con la misma edad, corría por el campo en pos de las vacas y no había leído un solo libro.

El mundo contempla el gran espectáculo de lucha y muerte, cosas que le resultan difíciles de imaginar porque la imagen de la guerra es intransferible. No se puede transmitir ni con la pluma ni con la voz ni con la cámara. La guerra es una realidad solo para aquellos que están apresados en su interior, sangriento, sucio y repugnante. Para otros no es sino una página en un libro o unas imágenes en una pantalla; nada más.

Ã…Å¡wiat przypatruje siÄ™ wielkiemu widowisku walki i Å›mierci, które zresztÄ… trudno mu sobie wyobrazi?, bo obraz wojny jest nieprzekazywalny. Ani piórem, ani gÅ'osem, ani kamerÄ…. Wojna jest rzeczywistoÅ›ciÄ… tylko dla tych, którzy tkwiÄ… w jej zakrwawionym, wstrÄ™tnym, brudnym wnÄ™trzu. Dla innych jest stronicÄ… ksi??ki, obrazem na ekranie, niczym wiÄ™cej.

?e nie ma takiego nonsensu, którego umysÅ' ludzki nie byÅ'by zdolny wymyÅ›li?.

Má»™t v?t ch?ng Ä'âu vào Ä'âu tr? thành Ä'i?u gì Ä'ó quan tr?ng vì chúng ta Ä'ã quy?t ??nh nhÆ° th?. Trí t??ng t??ng c?a chúng ta Ä'ã bôi thÆ¡m và tán dÆ°Æ¡ng nó.

The world contemplates the great spectacle of combat and death, which is difficult for it to imagine in the end, because the image of war is not communicable – not by the pen, or the voice, or the camera. War is a reality only to those stuck in its bloody, dreadful, filthy insides. To others it is pages in a book, pictures on a screen, nothing more.

What is youth? A dream. What is love? The dream's content.

Nothing is as heady as the wine of possibility