#v

There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose- red grasses and you- in your apron hurrying to catch- say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that put wings at your heels, at your knees. ↗

— William Carlos Williams

#improvisions #kora #imagination

Visionary builds what dreamers imagined. ↗

— Toba Beta

#visionary #imagination

Who is the brave man--he who feels no fear? If so, then bravery is but a polite term for a mind devoid of rationality and imagination. ↗

— Geraldine Brooks

#fear #imagination

One of the great things about the universe is that it's fair. ↗

— Alan Bean

#fair #great #great things #things #universe

«Perché è così che ti frega, la vita. Ti piglia quando hai ancora l'anima addormentata e ti semina dentro un'immagine, o un odore, o un suono che poi non te lo togli più. E quella lì era la felicità. Lo scopri dopo, quand'è troppo tardi. E già sei, per sempre, un esule: a migliaia di chilometri da quell'imagine, da quel suono, da quell'odore. Alla deriva.» ↗

— Alessandro Baricco

#imagination

Wit seduces by signaling intelligence without nerdiness. ↗

— Nassim Nicholas Taleb

#autism #humor #intelligence #nerd #nerds

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

— Thomas Henry Huxley

#imagination #imagination

Probably every lover imagines that his own love is pure, and that others love like beasts. ↗

— James J. Wilhelm

#lovers #imagination

If we want to truly regain the public's trust, we can provide greater accountability and transparency with a simple step. Let's start by communicating to our constituents about the votes we take. ↗

— Melissa Bean

#accountability #communicating #constituents #greater #our

She grabbed her briefcase and took a step toward him. “You don’t have a last name?” “Everyone has a last name.” His hand hovered in the air, waiting. He was forcing her to cross the marble floor to meet him, and like a Luna moth drawn to a midnight moon, she drifted toward him. When she reached him, she took his hand and looked up into his face. “Is it Jones? Smith? Or Brown?” His lips twitched. “None of the above.” “And you won’t tell me?” “It’s not necessary information.” She tilted her head, studying his angular features. “You don’t look like an Adrian.” His smile broadened. “Imagine that.” “More like a Carlos, or a Juan, or a Diego.” “Those are Hispanic names.” “Aren’t you Hispanic?” “I’m anything you want me to be. ↗

— Shelby Reed

#chris #shelby-reed #the-fifth-favor #imagination