That’s the way the mind works: the brain is genetically disposed towards organization, yet if not controlled, will link even the most imagerial fragment to another on the flimsiest pretense and in the most freewheeling manner, as if it takes a kind of organic pleasure in creative association, without regards to logic or chronological sequence.

How do we remain faithful to our own spiritual imagination and not betray what we know in our own bodies? The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

It is hard to imagine the things you have never seen.

Every production of an artist should be the expression of an adventure of his soul.

Martial (the main character of LOCUS SOLUS) has a very interesting conception of literary beauty: the work must contain nothing real, no observations about the world or the mind, nothing but completely imaginary constructions. These are in themselves ideas from an extrahuman world.

The books we love offer a sketch of a whole universe that we secretly inhabit, and in which we desire the other person to assume a role.One of the conditions of happy romantic compatibility is, if not to have read the same books, to have read at least some books in common with the other...

A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.

A blank piece of paper is God’s way of telling us how hard it is to be God.

When you spend time worrying, you’re simply using your imagination to create things you don’t want.

And the sun on the wall of her room, the block of sun with all the tiny flying things in it. When she was little she thought they were the souls of dead insects, still buzzing in the light.

Sketch what you got, it will determine what you will be.

When the great ship containing the hopes and aspirations of the world, when the great ship freighted with mankind goes down in the night of death, chaos and disaster, I am willing to go down with the ship. I will not be guilty of the ineffable meanness of paddling away in some orthodox canoe. I...

Grabbing readers by the imagination is a writer’s job.

To a clear eye the smallest fact is a window through which the infinite may be seen.

Do you know what the imagination is, Susan?”The child nodded sagely. “That’s when you see things that aren’t really there.””Well, not exactly,” said Kris with a smile. “No — to me the imagination is a place all by itself. A very wonderful country. You’ve heard of the British Nation and the French Nation?”Susan nodded again.”Well,...

Books have a vital place in our culture. They are the source of ideas, of stories that engage and stretch the imagination and most importantly, inspire.

I have a habit of letting my imagination run away from me. It always comes back though . . . drenched with possibilities.

I don’t want to see landscapes, i.e. scenic paintings of them, because I don’t want to see the original realities – as optical effects that is. I want to see the deeper reality underlying the scenic, the expression of what are sometimes called abstract imaginings. The ‘simply natural’ is interesting no longer.

Earlier 18th-century literary language was not supple enough to connect the life of the imagination to that of the street.

Musing takes place in a kind of meadowlands of the imagination, a part of the imagination that has not yet been plowed, developed, or put to any immediately practical use…time spent there is not work time, yet without that time the mind becomes sterile, dull, domesticated. The fight for free space — for wilderness and...

But it would have been a surprise, not only to katherine herself, if some magic watch could have taken count of the moments spent in an entirely different occupation from her ostensible one.Sitting with faded papers before her, she took part in a series of scenes such as the taming of wild ponies upon the...

I didn’t create them, humans created the Pollution. Cheryl Nobel, Alecto Steele, Albert Sanders, Olivia Campbell, all my pretty little Representations, there aren’t many of them left these days but they’re still very dangerous! They’re here to tell society all about its mistakes! You don’t understand the world of Representations.

Close your senses and the imagination comes alive. It’s inside us al, dulled by endless television reruns and by a society that reins in fantasy as something not to be trusted, something to be purged. But it’s in there, deep inside, a spark waiting to set a touch-paper alight.

Some minds corrode and grow inactive under the loss of personal liberty; others grow morbid and irritable; but it is the nature of the poet to become tender and imaginitive in the loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive bird, pours forth his soul in melody.

Clearly, imagining cannot be expected to mean exactly the same thing today as it did in the Middle Ages or antiquity. For one thing, Aristotle and Aquinas never watched television.

We should use our imagination more than our memory.

I begin by imagining The impossibleAnd end by accomplishingThe impossible.

There is an implicit recognition here that important things in life are not always immediately visible, and can’t always be named, or even fully understood. Others still are entirely imaginary — like a red tree growing suddenly in a room — although this does not make them any less real.

Because, when everything else is gone, all we’re left with is our imaginations.

When I sit down to write I actually ask myself, ‘Who do you want to be today?’

I settle into my imagination so that I might be someone when the real world tells me I’m no one.

Truly, there is magic in fairytales.For it takes but a simply-uttered ‘Once upon a time…’ to allure and spellbind an audience.

Is my imagination as important as reality? Sometimes I think YES… It’s imagination that makes reality tolerable… Sometimes, I just want to close my eyes and fall in to the endless imagination…

You are what resides before, beyond and between what you think so do not be consumed by thought. It is only a fragment of your magic.

Remember when we didn’t know that colours can mix and form other colours. When we were not introduced to strokes that brushes can form, when light and dark were not necessary for the picture to be completed, and when it was a matter of lines that were not suppose to be connected. When feelings crashed...

I live in two unique worlds, traveling between both with just the opening or closing of my eyes.

Laughter and imagination can overcome any ill-felt sensations.

Imagine fantasy and pretend as neither fantastical nor pretended…..and then believe it.

When a person reaches the end of a book and says, ‘I want to read that again,’ what he’s actually saying is that he wants to mentally merge with his favorite character and stroll among all the other creative personalities, feeding a hungry imagination through the vicarious reliving of each and every wild chapter that...

In the strangely simple economy of the world people only get what they give, and to those who have not enough imagination to penetrate the mere outward of things and feel pity, what pity can be given save that of scorn?

The basis of action is lack of imagination. It is the last resource of those who know not how to dream.

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

A little bit of one story joins onto an idea from another, and hey presto, . . . not old tales but new ones. Nothing comes from nothing.

Literature is where I go to explore the highest and lowest places in human society and in the human spirit, where I hope to find not absolute truth but the truth of the tale, of the imagination, and of the heart.

So far I had been travelling alone with my handbook and my Western Railway timetable: I was happiest finding my own way and did not require a liaison man. It had been my intention to stay on the train, without bothering about arriving anywhere: sight-seeing was a way of passing the time, but, as I...

As night falls silently all around,She carefully turns the last page.

A fortress built long ago,Walls made timeless by historic glory.The small girl in the boat slows,To listen to its story.

In the past I had often tried to escape the grown-up world of sorrow through my imagination- dreaming that a handsome young lieutenant would ride to my rescue or that a great empresario would discover my musical talents and whisk me away. I had envisioned knights in shining armor and happily ever after scenes to...

Imagination droops her pinion.