Best 4697 quotes in «imagination quotes» category

Someone who was just nice didn't remain on your mind an hour after they'd left.

Some people are there just for being in imagination even if you know they are walking somewhere on this planet. Thats because they are just too good to exist.

Some people spend their whole lives in a fantasy world, and that’s not a good thing!

Sometimes an unimaginative mind can imagine the most unimaginable

Sometimes even the imagination lets one down.

Sometimes even a "Yes" can be fatal for our Souls

Sometimes he does talk back, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he’s not there; and from time to time I believe this was all nothing but imaginary.

Sometimes imaginary troubles are harder to bear than actual ones.

Sometimes I wonder how much of our suffering we allow or impose on ourselves simply in search of our worthiness to accept our own respect and appreciation. I’d written before some years ago that we often cause suffering in another so that we can then love them, as in, “You have suffered for me, so I can love you now.” The eventual shock of realizing the sacrifice made for you destroys the walls of self-righteousness and protection. The suffering sacrifice of another creates the willingness and capacity to do the same. Finally, love and respect (respect is part of the body of love) come from the recognition of something else already given up for them. Within the individual, you or me, a similar process takes place toward oneself. It is as if we know some- where that we are not worthy of our own love or respect until we have earned the right to it, and that is mainly through some kind of suffering. That suffering may be generic, as in a life lived in which tragedy after tragedy accumulate, or it may be specific, as in the constant sacrifice of other easier things for a being or vision. Or, perhaps more correctly, it is either consciously chosen or not.

Sometimes I wonder how much of our suffering we allow or impose on ourselves simply in search of our worthiness to accept our own respect and appreciation.

Sometimes life is like living in a chamber of Liquid Oxygen. Liquid don't allow you to live and Oxygen don't let you die.

Sometimes our worst fears aren't realized - though in my experience it's only to make room for the fears our imagination was insufficient to house.

Sometimes one's imagination can be more beautiful than the most picturesque beach.

Sometimes the things in our heads are far worse than anything they could put in books or on film!!

Sometimes we don't want to be tethered to yesterday. It's nicer to forget. Maybe the gaps in our memory are there for a reason, evolutionary perhaps, to give us the space to grow, to get away from childishness or childish things. Or maybe it's so we have the chance to invent, or at least include, some magic in our yesterdays, surely the consolation of getting older, of moving away from youth, is that we can shape our past to our fantasies. So, even if the present isn't going the way we want it, we can stand and remember our earlier selves as exciting and funny and daring

Sometimes, without effort, you live in the moment. You don't regret the past or worry about the future, and in that moment everything flashes before your eyes , a clear snapshot of what has to be done, and everything pauses.

So much of love is imagination -- its over-activity, its over-ambition, its over-the-top faith.

So rapid is the flight of dreams upon the wings of imagination.

so that it isn't upsetting to anybody. It's something we've always known about fairy tales – they talk about incest, the Oedipus complex, about psychotic mothers, like those of Snow White and Hansel and Gretel, who throw their children out. They tell things about life which children know instinctively, and the pleasure and relief lie in finding these things expressed in language that children can live with. You can't eradicate these feelings – they exist and they're a great source of creative inspiration.

Speculative fiction both requires and rewards an open mind.

Still the dream persists, suppressed but always there, that somehow by some miraculous effort of the heart what was done could be undone. What form would such atonement take that would turn back time and bring the dead to life? None. None possible, not in the real world. And yet in my imaginings I can clearly see this cleansed new creature steaming up out of myself like a proselyte rising drenched from the baptismal river amid glad cries.

Spring invites us into a fairy land of imagination where flowers bloom with joy, butterflies fly with song, and love dances with love.

Start wherever you are! Low hanging fruit really tastes as good as the high stuff.

Step aboard and we will fly through the window, through the sky

Step inside your favorite storybook and become lost in a journey only your imagination can envision.

Still, though, I can't be sure if the zoo as I recall it was really like that. How can I put it? I sometimes feel that it's too vivid, if you know what I mean. And when I start having thoughts like this, the more I think about it, the less I can tell how much of the vividness is real and how much of it my imagination has invented. I feel as if I've wandered into a labyrinth. Has that ever happened to you?

Spinoza follows Maimonides in rejecting the ordinary meanings which attach to words, and in asking his readers to attend, not to language, but to the ‘ideas’ which he is attempting to convey by means of it. Common usage is governed by the imagination, which associates words, not with clear and distinct ideas, but with the confused conceptions of experience. In the language of imagination nothing can be truly described, and nothing is more misleadingly rendered by the imagination than the ultimate subject matter of philosophical speculation – God himself

Stand at the top of a cliff and jump off and build your wings on the way down.

Stay upbeat and keep your head held high. There is no end to the power of positive thinking. I AM looking forward to all the wealth, success, and abundance speeding my way!

Still, I was thinking that this was all wrong, despite feeling so nice, for once again one of my most sacred and deepest erotic fantasies was brutally being shattered, and once more it was all because of Ami. After all, it had been one of my fondest dreams, as a teenager, to lie in bed cuddling with a cute girl, or even with Yumi. Of course, in those many imaginations, we were both naked and we were having wild passionate sex as well as cuddling, but there before me at that very moment was the sad pathetic reality.

Still, though, I can’t be sure if the zoo as I recall it was really like that. How can I put it? I sometimes feel that it’s too vivid, if you know what I mean. And when I start having thoughts like this, the more I think about it, the less I can tell how much of the vividness is real and how much of it my imagination has invented.

Stop explaining to others, people will only understand from their level of discernment.

Strong people don't put others down. They lift them up and slam them on the ground for maximum damage.

Subcreation is not just a desire, but a need and a right; it renews our vision and gives us new perspective and insight into ontological questions that might otherwise escape our notice within the default assumptions we make about reality.

Stretch imagination to the limit. If you go too far, you can always come back.

Sure we all need money but what do you really focus on? It is a matter of the heart. If your thoughts are on material and worldly things, no good fruits can come out of it. Seek the kingdom of God first and the other things shall be added unto you not vice versa.

Such is life, imaginary or otherwise: a continuous parting of ways, a constant flux of approximation and distanciation, lines of fate intersecting at a point which is no-time, a theoretical crossroads fictitiously 'present,' an unstable ice floe forever drifting between was and will be.

[S]urely the Cupid serving him was lefthanded, with a weak chin and no imagination.

Sympathy is the child of imagination

Suppose you and Pa were gone, and we were lost. Suppose we were inside of Lord of the Flies What would happen then? I wonder what my sister, who understand books better than life, would say if she were confronted with a question like this one. She's so good at explaining books and their meanings, beyond the obvious. Maybe she'd say that all those books and stories devoted to adult-less children – books like Peter Pan, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, that short story by García Márquez, "Light is Like Water," and of course Lord of the Flies – are nothing but desperate attempts by adults to come to terms with childhood. That although they may seem to be stories about children's worlds – worlds without adults – they are in fact stories about children's worlds – worlds without adults – they are in fact stores about an adult's world when there are children in it, about the way that children's imaginations destabilize our adult sense of reality and force us to question the very grounds of that reality. The more time one spends surrounded by children, disconnected by other adults, the more their imaginations leak through the cracks of our own fragile structures.

Surreal reality. Real surreality. Imagination Opium. Reality Morphium.

Take a walk with me through nature and let’s gaze on the marvelous wonders of creation.

TAKE Risk because you never know how absolutely perfect something could turn out to be..

Taming an imagination that has run wild is sometimes necessary for publication and sometimes the opposite is true.

Tales of triumph are my favourite.

Talk a walk with me through nature and let’s gaze on the marvelous wonders of creation.

Tant pour l’auteur que pour le lecteur, les lettres de l’alphabet sont un mot de passe fantastique. Elles permettent l’accès à un monde magique, imaginaire et réel à la fois; ce même monde qui fera jaillir en nous un flot infini d’émotions inoubliables...

Tenderhearted people are silent sufferers they just learn the art to fly with broken wings.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!

Texts are not "processed" as much as they are resurrected, and the image of reader and information processor or computer device, which often dominates current discussions of reading, seems less apt than another metaphor: the reader as necromancer.