#imagination

It's me," said Jace. "Watching me play Scrabble is enough to make most women swoon. Imagine if I actually put in some effort. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#imagination

your brain is wider than the sky ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#imagination

It's Thursday afternoon, and we have sports. These are the choices for the girls: watching an invitational cricket game; studying in one of the classrooms; or watching the senior rugby league. As you can imagine, I'm torn. ↗

— Melina Marchetta

#sports #imagination

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets? ↗

— Jeanette Winterson

#jeanette-winterson #reality #sexing-the-cherry #imagination

It seems to me that Canadian sensibility has been profoundly disturbed, not so much by our famous problem of identity, important as that is, as by a series of paradoxes in what confronts that identity. It is less perplexed by the question "Who am I?" than by some such riddle as "Where is here? ↗

— Northrop Frye

#imagination

You know, I never imagined there were he-dryads. Not even in an oak tree." One of the giants grinned at him. Druellae snorted. "Stupid! Where do you think acorns come from? ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#imagination

But I explained that deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope. ↗

— Elizabeth Gilbert

#imagination

I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth. ↗

— Kurt Vonnegut

#writing #imagination

That there were other worlds, invisible, unknown, beyond imagination even, was a revelation to him. ↗

— Kim Edwards

#other-worlds #unknown #imagination

Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’ ‘No, what?’ I would say. ‘A piece of dust.’ Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, ‘So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.’ And of course Buddy wouldn’t have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn’t see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick and couldn’t sleep. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#the-bell-jar #imagination