Best 4697 quotes in «imagination quotes» category

Everyone needs to escape sometimes, and retreating into somebody else's fantasy isn't nearly as satisfying as slipping into your own.

Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.

Every song I am listening to It has an imaginary story about you.

Everything great that ever happened in this world started from the imagination of the people. When a fiction becomes a reality, the person becomes a visionary.

Everything in your mental life proceeds in proper neurological order. If you could have sufficient insight into all the inner and outer parts of your mental life, along with remembrance and intelligence enough to consider all the circumstances and take them into account, you would be a true prophet and visualize the future in the present as in a mirror.

Everything in this world is the fruit of the imagination. If there is no imaginary garden in our head, we can't plant a real one.

Everything's going down the drain, and they have this little picture in their heads about how nice things could be...

Every reader writes the book he or she reads, supplying what isn't there, and that creative invention becomes the book.

Every repast can have soul and can be enchanting; it asks for only a small degree of mindfulness and a habit of doing things with care and imagination. -Thomas Moore

Everything that humans have achieved until now, were once merely an imagination in someone’s head.

Explore your sacred mind.

Explore the power of a beautiful wonder.

Explore the power of creativity.

Faced with the prospect of a black depression, Highsmith once again retreated into fantasy, dreaming about an affair with the actress Anne Meacham, whose picture she had seen in a magazine publicising her role in the Tennessee Williams' play, In the Bar of a Tokyo Hotel. After the disasters of recent years, she reckoned that the safest option was to escape into romantic imagination. She reviewed her failures over the past five years and concluded that 'the moral is: stay alone. Any idea of any close relationship should be imaginary, like any story I am writing. This way no harm is done to me or to any other person'.

Facts? What are facts? I only know imagination!

Fairy tales were the door to the world of imagination for me as a child, that land I often lived in when real life wasn’t quite enough.

Faith is never connected to safe. There is no faith without tension. For a rubber band to function to it's elasticity, it has to experience a tension. Saints of God who has no tension has no function.

Falling in love is the most beautiful wonder.

Falling in love is a beautiful wonder.

Father had stretched out his long legs and was tilting back in his chair. Mother sat with her knees crossed, in blue slacks, smoking a Chesterfield. The dessert dishes were still on the table. My sisters were nowhere in evidence. It was a warm evening; the big dining-room windows gave onto blooming rhododendrons. Mother regarded me warmly. She gave me to understand that she was glad I had found what I had been looking for, but that she and father were happy to sit with their coffee, and would not be coming down. She did not say, but I understood at once, that they had their pursuits (coffee?) and I had mine. She did not say, but I began to understand then, that you do what you do out of your private passion for the thing itself. I had essentially been handed my own life. In subsequent years my parents would praise my drawings and poems, and supply me with books, art supplies, and sports equipment, and listen to my troubles and enthusiasms, and supervise my hours, and discuss and inform, but they would not get involved with my detective work, nor hear about my reading, nor inquire about my homework or term papers or exams, nor visit the salamanders I caught, nor listen to me play the piano, nor attend my field hockey games, nor fuss over my insect collection with me, or my poetry collection or stamp collection or rock collection. My days and nights were my own to plan and fill.

Fear feeds the imagination.

Fear is the most prodigious enemy of our soul

Fear doesn't gain respect. It just makes people do what you want to shut you up and get you away from them.

Feel, now let your heart be your light; imagination is your way and bliss is your destination.

Felix had gone to live in a lotus land of his imagination. Where what is desired is dreamed of as already happened, where obstacles dissolve under the weight of desire, and where reality has vanished entirely.

Few experiences are more satisfying than becoming someone we always imagined we could be.

Every time you think of escaping mentally or physically, grab the book that lies inches away from your heart.

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut ... We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn’t the opposite equally true?

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth. We all have an obligation to daydream. We have an obligation to imagine. It is easy to pretend that nobody can change anything, that society is huge and the individual is less than nothing. But the truth is individuals make the future, and they do it by imagining that things can be different.

Fiction and poetry are doses, medicines. What they heal is the rupture reality makes on the imagination.

Fly in the sky of imagination to find the true solution.

For a happy life,it's best we should ignore &overlook things,people,incidents,affairs & matters.It is not necessary that we show a reaction to everything. Step back & ask yourself if the matter is really worth responding to.

For all those who say its a Man world. Respect Women Its their World we are just guest here

For a scientist must indeed be freely imaginative and yet skeptical, creative and yet a critic. There is a sense in which he must be free, but another in which his thought must be very precisely regimented; there is poetry in science, but also a lot of bookkeeping.

Find answers in your weakness and surprise in your strength and always remember the golden rule every failure has HOPES

For a young man has strong imagination but poor judgment, so that he imagines others to be as big as he is but considers himself to be very small. He has unbounded trust in the universe but is constantly unsure of himself.

Forcing the muse to let thoughts flow; equals to pushing a child, into labor.

For an instant Harry imagined... Just for an instant, before his imagination blew a fuse and called an emergency shut down and told him never to imagine that again.

For him and his brother, he now knew, that music was real. Becuase all you had to do, really, was be willing to use your imagination. And listen.

For Merleau-Ponty, the phenomenology of the human body, the very phenomenon of the human body, is intimately linked to "the problems of painting": "Things have an internal equivalent in me; they arouse in me a carnal formula of their presence. Why shouldn't these [correspondences] in turn give rise to some [external] visible shape in which anyone else would recognize those motifs which support his own inspection of the world?" Painting brings forth a carnal visuality, an embodied and incarnate image, by establishing the internal equivalent ("in me") of the outside world, which is made of the "same stuff." I am an extension of the world, but the world extends, intensifies, forms a "line of intensity," to use Gilles Deleuze's idiom, inside me. The world forms a "strange system of exchanges" with me; I am constituted in an exchange with the world. Painting makes this continuity visible, is itself the visualization of this continuity, of this blending of the inside and out. Images—"designs" and "paintings"—says Merleau-Ponty, are "the inside of the outside and the outside of the inside, which the duplicity of feeling makes possible and without which we would never understand the quasi presence and imminent visibility which make up the whole problem of the imaginary.

For people never say anything the same way twice; no two of them ever say it the same. The greatest imaginative writer that ever brooded in a lavender robe and a mellowed briar in his teeth, couldn't tell you, though e try for a lifetime, how the simplest strap-hanger will ask the conductor to be let off at the next stop. ... It is all for the taking. All the manuals by frustrated fictioneers on how to write can't give you the first syllable of reality, at any cot, that any common conversation can. All the classics, read and re-read, can't help you catch the ring of truth as does the word heard first-hand.

For the most expensive way to realize an orgasm, men open their wallets. For the cheapest, they close their eyes.

For what does it mean to look at something, a real object in the real world, an animal, for example, and say that it is something other than what it is? It is to say that each thing leads a double life, at once in the world and in our minds, and that to deny either one of these lives is to kill the thing in both its lives at once.

Four years ago the clocks started turning back. I open my eyes and see nothing. I feel nothing below or above me. I feel the absence of things. The absence of my flesh, my bones, my body, my mind. All that is left is awareness. I see nothing but the absence of colour. It’s not a black darkness. It’s simply nothing. The interior of a black hole. I recall news of a black hole lingering along the edges of our solar system. All that time ago. Four years ago. When the clocks started turning back. I hear nothing. Until there is a something. A small thing. A voice. I listen. There are more voices. The sounds are human. How long has it been since I’ve heard a human? The sounds scratch along my now present attention. They carve into my hearing. They are horrid, wretched things. Voices screaming. Growing loud and desperate. How many voices? Billions. This is the birth of our species. We are born screaming. It’s all we know to do. We have screamed for eternity. Within this empty space.

Freedom of the Heart Imagination is beyond my comprehension, Such is the beauty of creation. With every soul in constant migration We inhale the light of our suffering's transmutation. We move into our core, our love, our heart A sacred space within, our deepest art Move from our thoughts, our noisy mind space, Into a sanctuary of love, joy, peace and grace And as we dive deeper and deeper still, We find in that silence, the divine will And see there's nothing else to really fear, In freedom we surrender our inner victim.

Frieda B.'s a big dreamer, that's certainly true, but the world's biggest dreamer is also in you. All the color and music inside - set it free. Just dream your dreams big and believe they can be.

Freedom is not to defy, it is to co-exist. It is a challenge for the imagination

Fionna loved the dark, for it lit her mind, her muse; it was truly her inspiration. It fired her imagination as nothing else could. She had never feared the depths of night, not even as a child. She reveled in it, particularly on those moonless nights, when all the world lay closed and sleeping, while she lay awake and dreaming- of legends and myths, and stories yet to be told. That was when her mind came alive, when she came alive.

...from sweaty-palmed anxiety blooms vivid imagination.

from CHAOS? Trust the imagination - lines and shapes revealed - space and light instead of blackness. Silence being tentative, tender life of universe.