Quotes About Imagination

Reality, n. The dream of a mad philosopher.

This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with interspaces blank and black -- witch-fires glowing still and red in a great desolation.

A popular author is one who writes what the people think. Genius invites them to think something else.

He thought he was walking along a dusty road that showed white in the gathering darkness of a summer night. Whence and whither it led, and why he traveled it, he did not know, though all seemed simple and natural, as is the way in dreams; for in the Land Beyond the Bed surprises cease from troubling and the judgment is at rest.

He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself in handfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; he could not think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble.

ALLEGORY, n. A metaphor in three volumes and a tiger.

If you want to read a perfect book there is only one way: write it.

Si deseas que tus sueños se hagan realidad, ¡despierta!

IMAGINATION, n. A warehouse of facts, with poet and liar in joint ownership.

The light inside the confessional was so dim that I could not see his features very plainly. I only observed that his eyes were large, and bright, and wild-looking, like the eyes of some fierce animal, and that his face, with the reflection of the green curtain upon it, looked lividly pale.

Close your eyes and get some rest. We gain new worlds when we sleep. —The Grimoire of Eleanor St. Clair

He knows nothing about how this will all end, except that it will surely end. He tries to imagine himself into a future, somewhere past this point, but he cannot. There is nothing to do but to keep on existing, in this exact time and place. This is what hell must be like. Waiting without knowing. Not hell, but purgatory. Worse than hell.

What the best novels and novelists do is to offer a different way of seeing.

I could not persuade her that a place does not merely exist, that it has to be invented in one's imagination.

But it's 'cause real life is what it is that a man needs daydreams.

But it's 'cause real life is what it is that a man needs daydreams. Most

Elállt az es?, a földek fölött kisütött a nap. Halvány szivárvány nyújtózott a szürke égbolt alatt. Monza kíváncsi lett volna, tényleg manók laknak-e a tövében, ahogyan az apja mondta neki, vagy ott is csak szar van, ahogy mindehol máshol. Kihajolt a nyeregb?l és a búza közé köpött. Manószar talán.

Didn't seem likely, but what's the point of likely fantasies?

Hundreds of men, struggling and dying by the hellish glare of burning torches, of burning missiles, of burning houses. Friendly could hardly believe it was real. It all looked, false, fake, a model staged for a lurid painting. "The breach at Visserine." he whispered to himself, framing the scene with his hands and imagining it hanging on some rich man's wall.

Besides, it somehow helped to imagine that the orders came from somewhere else, somewhere unknowable and irresistible. It was nice to have an attic in which to stack the blame. Friendly

I can see her on your arm like an empty dress, a kind of echo at a higher pitch.

You want to paint this?' 'Future generations might never believe it happened.' She blew some yellow hair out of her face with a smoky breath and went back to sketching, charcoal hissing on paper. 'Then it might happen again.

You can pick out the bits that suit your story and toss the unhappy truths to the wind.

I remember fantasies of finding notes in old bottles washed ashore. I remember magic carpets and giant "genies" and trying to figure out what my three wishes would be. I remember not understanding why Cinderella didn't just pack up and leave, if thins were really all that bad. I remember getting a car door slammed on my finger once, and how long it took for the pain to come. I remember wondering if goats really do eat tin cans.