Imagination Vs Reality Quotes

That's what we storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again and again.

I remember exactly how it felt to see that first message from him in my inbox. It was a little bit surreal. He wanted to know about me. For the next few days at school after that, it felt like I was a character in a movie. I could almost imagine a close-up of my face, projected wide-screen. It's strange, because in reality, I'm not the leading guy. Maybe I'm the best friend.

Every so often, over the next day or so, she would find herself in a gray, daydreamy mood, missing something, and she'd realize that it was Robert she missed, not the real Robert but the Robert she'd imagined on the other end of all those text messages during break.

All landscapes eventually turn to land, the gold of the imagination to the lead of reality

For what, after all, is the difference between a memory and a fantasy? Are not both a succession of imprecisely rendered images further obscured by imprecisely chosen words and animated only by the wistful effort of one's imagination? And who is to say that a vividly imagined moment of happiness is not, in the end, more enriching to the spirit than a hazy semi-recollection of some pallid pastime?

You might be a good poet if you were on the moon while writing in your room.

Killing in the name of an imagined heaven leads all such silly sods straight to a real hell.

If you and your fancied god bay for the blood of another human, an imagined infidel, then, both of you must be examined to determine if you're not a poodle, and your master a doodle.

We pay more attention to the content of messages than to information about their reliabillity, and as a result end up with a view of the world around us that is simpler and more coherent than the data justify. Jumping to conclusions is a safer sport in the world of our imagination than it is in reality.

Today, I wanted to be a bit aggressive and sexy . . . to be a provoking woman who remains a ghost in the hearts of men, so vivid that they could never forget. And this ghost shines with different colours in their imagination every time . . . I have always been good at being a muse. I adored this role and have always kept improving this image.

Prose vs. Poetry To a writer of prose a flower is a flower. To a poet a flower can be the origami of God's eye enfolding the cosmos; it is the luminous well of imagination bursting into pattern; it is the coalescence of infinite possibility into palpable reality; it is a confetti forest for dancing bumble bees; it is the flirtatious blush ofradial symmetry; it is the heartache of love manifest in a rose. For a true poet A FLOWER IS NOT A FLOWER.

He thought that the civil servants employed in one department were one big, happy family, concerned about one another's peace and pleasure; that going to the office was not by any means a duty that must be performed day in and day out, and that rainy weather, heat, or a mere disinclination could always be given as a legitimate excuse for not going to the office. One can easily imagine his disappointment when he discovered that nothing short of an earthquake could prevent a civil servant who was in good health from turning up at his office.

Imagination is not obligated to let practicalities dominate, nor to judge itself in terms of dualistic language (true vs untrue; reality vs fantasy; good vs evil, etc.) The paradox of imagination is that it cannot imagine itself while it is experienced and it can't judge itself while experienced. 'I promise never to imagine cutting a kittens throat' is a ridiculous proposition. Most of us wish that people would not get pleasure imagining such things to the exclusion of anything else. Even so, imagining per se leaves no traces, while planning may do so and preforming always does. Imagining leave no traces, which is not the same as saying imagining has no effect.

Fantasmagoria by Stewart Stafford Dreams are the exploration, Of unlimited imagination, In minds so freely open, The chooser becomes chosen, To dream labour's leisure, Overflowing with hidden treasure, And seeing what we feel, The imagined becomes real. © Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.

Fantasy and Responsibility (The Sonnet) Fantasy is good so long as it doesn't make us, Oblivious to our responsibility of reality. Imagination expands the mind for sure, Only when it empowers our acts of accountability. Growing up in India, I did not have superman, But I did indulge religiously in some shaktimaan. I don't know whether it influenced my making, But it sure did fill my childhood with fascination. People draw inspiration from different places, That's a normal tenet of the mind, not a violation. But inspiration is inspiration only when it leads, To collective uplift, otherwise it's just delusion. Fantasy is healthy when practiced with moderation. Too much fiction paralyzes responsibility and reason.

Poetry vs. Prose To a writer of prose a flower is a flower. To a poet a flower can be the origami of God's eye enfolding the cosmos; it is the luminous well of imagination bursting into pattern; it is the coalescence of infinite possibility into palpable reality; it is a confetti forest for dancing bumble bees; it is the flirtatious blush ofradial symmetry; it is the heartache of love manifest in a rose. For a true poet A FLOWER IS NOT A FLOWER.

It is always tempting, and sometimes helpful, to see the world and to interpret stories, whether the true ones of history, or the Bible, or the fictional ones in novels and films, along broad sweeps and grand archetypes: Good vs. evil; cowboy with the white hat vs. cowboy with the black hat; angel vs. demon. Myth, symbol, and archetypes, along with dreams and visions, are universal signs of the timeless and eternal aspects of reality. They point to a divine order of Creation, and remind us that we are made in the Image of the Creator. The mythopoeic externalizes the truths of the inner spiritual life, making them manifest. Such stories meet a hunger caused by the general absence of myth and mystery in the modern world—that much-discussed disenchantment. (Chapter 11)