Best 4697 quotes in «imagination quotes» category

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    In the midst of the vagaries of life, they provide us a trip to the land of goodness and fairies, of imaginations and possibilities. A childhood that wasn't spent watching cartoons or reading comic strips, no wonder, seems too dull to imagine.

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    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 escape from rules or boredom or pain; including a vision of my mother walking through our front door whole and well again. Now I knew that a lifetime of escape led to a life like Aunt Bertie's. My imagination was a gift, but I had to live in the real world. My eyes had been opened this summer to poverty and crime and abuse and I needed to use my imagination not to escape, but to help people like Irina and Katya, to make my own contribution as the women in the women's pavilion had done. I couldn't do it in the same way Jane Adams and my grandmother and Aunt Mat were, but I would find my own way and my own time.

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    In the spiritual realms, we can only see the things of the spirit.

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    In the same way, teenagers imagine dying young because death is more imaginable than the person that all the decisions and burdens of adulthood may make of you.

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    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?

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    In the twenty-first century, human minds, and to a lesser extent, human hearts can work like well calibrated precision instruments, but who can write the universal manual on imagination?

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    In this way, I was able to place my own concerns aside and curl myself up in the cocoon of somebody else's imagination. My life was suspended - I was in neither one place nor the other.

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    In the world of imagination, all things belong.

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    In your imagination, 16,000 animals can fit into a boat that is only 440 feet long, 73 feet wide and 44 feet high. You can even decapitate a boy and then fit an elephant’s head on his headless body to bring him back to life. You can construct a demon with as many as ten heads and conceive him to be immortal unless he is hit at his navel. As far as your imagination is concerned, there is no boundary to perception.

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    In this kind of personal artwork, jettison any idea that you can help yourself or others by interpreting, praising, or criticizing. These kinds of creative pieces and experiences are only for being with. The only helpful response is to nourish the imagination and your piece by associating other images to it and noticing what feelings it evokes in you.

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    In your imagination, nothing is impossible

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    In this manner , we are told, the system of the imaginary is spread circularly, by detours and returns the length of an empty subject.

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    I read the stories I've been told in my own way and make a narrative of them. Narrative is a chain of links, and I link furiously, merrily hurdling over holes, gaps, and secrets. Nevertheless, I try to remind myself that the holes are there. They are always there, not only in the lives of others but in my own life as well.

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    I recall my life every day. I recall my sins and my acts of purity. I remind myself I was never a religious man. I remind myself that I have been dead for half of forever. I remind myself of nothing. I move along to the next minute. Next day. Next year. The earth doesn’t change so much anymore. It doesn’t change so quickly. With humans, the earth had to keep changing. But you can only replace a dying thing so many times before someone notices. There haven’t been humans for years. Maybe a decade. Maybe more. I find myself loving their absence. The absence of humanity is the absence of violence. I love this peace. But then I remember my bones. My mind and my memories. I remember I’m human. I am the thing I detest. The creature that haunts my steps. It’s my shadow I see watching me. It’s my reflection in the water. I keep remembering. I live in fear. But still, I walk on.

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    I refuse to settle for what you call reality.

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    I rely on a backbone of books and, for the most part, it's enough to keep me quiet, half-drugged with dreams of imaginary worlds.

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    I seek to be moved, my imagination reborn. Let me feast on poems that feed my hunger.

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    Is it not beautiful to discover a new path to your destiny and decorate it with the beauty of your imagination?

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    I possess a gorgeous world. I created it and painted it like a five years old, where the sky is woven with golden threads and the sun is pearl white. But alas! You can't observe it as they are positioned inside my mind my imaginations...

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    Is life a fantasy or fairy tales?

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

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    Isn't it remarkable that of all the machines devised by the humans, not one can replace imagination!

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    Isn't it true that a well-read book seems more alive to you, Ms Rainn?

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    I spend a lot of time imagining things - in fact, you could say that imagining things is my job.

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    I possess a gorgeous world. I created it and painted it like a five years old, where the sky is woven with golden threads and the sun is pearl white. But alas! You can't observe it as they are positioned inside my mind my imaginations... -Rohan Nath

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    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...

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    Is there another copy of you reading this post, deciding to put it aside without finishing this sentence while you're reading on? Think about 10^10^29 meters away from here!

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    Isn't it a good thing we don't know everything? If we did, we wouldn't have a reason to have curiosity, and curiosity is like imagination, taking us back to the time when we were just children in our own fantasylands.

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    Isn't violence a failure of the imagination, after all? And that failure, isn't it stupidity?

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    I think imagination is one of the greatest blessings of life, and while one can lose oneself in a book one can never be thoroughly unhappy.

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    I think nature's imagination Is so much greater than man's, she's never going to let us relax

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    I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.

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    I stared at the lute. At the darkness of the small holes amid the twisting decoration of the wood. I imagined, ridiculously, a world inside there. Deep in the shell of the lute. Where some miniature version of ourselves could live, safe and invisible and unharmed.

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    I still say Kellyanne could do with some real-live mates," went on my dad, as if he was talking to someone inside his beer. Mum had stomped off into the kitchen. "Maybe they are real!" she shouted back at him after rattling a few plates together. "Ever thought about that, ye of little bloody imagination?

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    It did not seem odd to Max that what he had imagined about Stumps was really true, because this was exactly how games you made up worked. Of course they were true. In your mind.

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    It could be said that the lectures changed the way many people thought about myth, fairy story, and poetry, and even about the relationship of imagination to thought and to language. One of the brilliant but cryptic insights he expressed was: ‘To ask what is the origins of stories … is to ask what is the origin of language and of the mind.

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    It doesn't matter if people are playing jazz or writing poetry -- if they want to be successful, they need to learn how to persist and persevere, how to keep on working until the work is done. Woody Allen famously declared that "eighty percent of success is showing up." NOCCA (New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts) teaches kids how to show up again and again.

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    It has been my personal experience that as I allow the painting to speak I become lost, it is delicious and at the same time frightening. The best ones, to me, have a life of their own.

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    ...I think apparatus burned out all over the ward trying to adjust to her come busting in like she did-took electronic readings on her and calculated they weren't built to handle something like this on the ward, and just burned out, like machines committing suicide.

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    I think it will be better if we can live our life as if Christ is going to return today and plan our live as if it is hundred years off. Keep living, serving and most of all be prepared.

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    I thought to myself how much more welcome a faculty the imagination would be if we could tell when it was at work and when not.

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    I think the child I was until 12 was so much more interesting than the teenager I became. As a teenager, you get wrapped up in your friends and sexual stuff, and the imaginative life you had, it just goes. And mine was so rich and fun. Fortunately, I was able to tap back into that later on [through my books] to save my life.

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    I think when you read a book you leave reality behind and enter your mind, where there is imagination that ignites you and that is when you truly are stuck in a good book...

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    It is always as it was between Achilles and Homer: one person has the experience, the sensation, the other describes it. A real writer only gives words to the affects and experiences of others; he is an artist in divining a great deal from the little that he has felt. Artist are by no means people of great passion, but they frequently present themselves as such, unconsciously sensing that others give greater credence to the passions they portray if the artist's own life testifies to his experience in this area. We need only let ourselves go, not control ourselves, give free play to our wrath or our desire, and the whole world immediately cries: how passionate he is! But there really is something significant in a deeply gnawing passion that consumes and often swallows up an individual: whoever experiences this surely does not describe it in dramas, music, or novels. Artists are frequently unbridled individuals, insofar, that is, as they are not artists: but that is something different.

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    It is just my imagination that flies, While she is wrapped up in her bedsheets like a nest.

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    It is a bird’s imagination, not its wings, that determines how high it can fly.

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    It is extraordinary how the human mind sees what it anticipates and is blind to anything that could not be dreamed of.

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

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    It is important to take the seriousness out of things that do not deserve it. Take the seriousness out of it, and the thing loses its power.

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    It is inconceivable that any form of intelligence would waste so much time and effort to make such an inferior piece of life—with all the 'ills that flesh is heir to,' and with all the misery and suffering that is so essential a part of living. If man is a 'fallen angel,' by the commission of a 'sin,' then disease and sorrow are part of God's inscrutable plan as a penalty imposed upon him for his 'disobedience,' and man's entire life is devoted to the expiation of that sin so as to soften the indictment before the 'Throne of God.' Man's atonement consists in making himself as miserable as possible by praying, fasting, masochism, flagellations and other forms of torture. This sadistic delusion causes him to insist that others—under pain of punishment—be as miserable as himself, for fear that if others fail to do as he does, it will provoke the wrath of his tyrant God to a more severe chastisement. The inevitable result is that Man devotes his life, not to the essentials of living and the making of a happy home, but to the building of temples and churches where he can 'lift his voice to God' in a frenzy of fanaticism, and eventually he becomes a victim of hysteria. His time and energy are wasted to cleanse his 'soul,' which he does not possess, and to save himself from a future punishment in hell which exists only in his imagination.