Quotes About Imagination

The author P. L. Travers once said, 'A writer is, after all, only half his book. The other half is the reader and from the reader the writer learns.

But the best stories were about their mother, how her hair was as red as blood, how she had seventy-four freckles on her face, how she was a ferryboat captain's daughter who believed that people could fly.

I had never before noticed that rain contained every color within itself, green as the fields, blue as heaven, white as a lamb, yellow as my daughter's hair.

He carries books everywhere he goes so he won't have to be bored by people.

She wondered if dreamers knew they were in a dream while it was happening, or if they had no idea that everything around them was purely imagined until the dream had gone.

A book doesn't live when it's written. It lives when it's read.

Isabel remembered what books had meant to her so long ago, and she suddenly had a longing for all those fictional worlds that had helped her through the worst years of her life.

Some things are best remembered the way you want to remember them, like this road, these stars, this girl right beside him as they walk into the center of the cold night, looking straight ahead.

I started to feel as though I were disappearing. Perhaps I myself was figment of my own imagination, a storm cloud, a wisp of smoke, a burning ember.

Meg was a great reader and was never without a book; while walking to school she often had one open in her hands, so engrossed she would sometimes trip while navigating familiar streets.

When darkness fell, he told me to close my eyes and dream, for in my dreams I would find another world, and in my waking life I would soon enough find such a world as well...

Writing itself was a magical act in which imagination altered reality and gave form to power. To

Her salvation was the novels she read. On nights she thought it might br better not to be alive w/o Levi in the world, she opened a book and was therefore saved, discovering that a novel was as great an escape as any spell.

Certainly, as a reader, I had always discovered the deepest truths in fiction; it was through reading novels that I learned about the world, a world not only of fact but of imagination and emotion.

This was true magic, the making and unmaking of the world with paper and ink.

Lucy Green couldn't stop reading. She was a secret reader...

If you believed in something strongly and gave it enough credence, it could appear right in front of you. Though it had been created in your mind, it would claim a presence in the real world, a monster at your door, a demon pulling at your coat sleeve.

To hell with human beings. I'd always felt safer with stories than with flesh and blood.

I was walking through a dream rather than living my life. I had become someone else, but who was that someone?

I could tell people anything I wanted to and whatever I told them, that would be the truth as far as they were concerned. Whoever I said I was, well, then that's who I'd be.

She'll be imagining everything that's out in front of them, road and cloud and sky, all the elements of a future, the sort you have to put together by hand, slowly and carefully, until the world is yours once more.

don't read. It's a waste of time. It's just for people who want to escape real life.

It was then that Nathaniel truly began to appreciate the years he had spent alone in his room, the distance from other people that had given him the ability to observe and to feel what another might had also made him a writer.

She thought that some people were like stories rather than whole books—at least the ones you never saw again. With people like that, you never knew what the real ending was.