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"The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself."
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Exlpore more Imagination quotes
"Memories, imagination, old sentiments, and associations are more readily reached through the sense of smell than through any other channel."
"Never tell to much. The monster is always scarier when it is still under the child's bed."
"How easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all."
"We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality."
"Just like heaven. Ever'body wants a little piece of lan'. I read plenty of books out here. Nobody never gets to heaven, and nobody gets no land. It's just in their head. They're all the time talkin' about it, but it's jus' in their head."
"My brother believed in all sorts of mythical creatures: pixies, dragons, werewolves, honest men."
"Sci-fi opens the way in mind for the new science."
"Those first few weeks are an unearthly season. From the outside you remain so ordinary, no one can tell from looking that you have experienced an earthquake of the soul. You've been torn asunder, invested with an ancient, incomprehensible magic. It's the one thing that we never quite get over: that we contain our own future."
"As great scientists have said and as all children know, it is above all by the imagination that we achieve perception, and compassion, and hope."
"My imagination will get me a passport to hell one day."
Explore more quotes by William Blake
"But to go to school in a summer morn,O! It drives all joy away;Under a cruel eye outworn,The little ones spend the dayIn sighing and dismay."
"I wander through each chartered street,Near where the chartered Thames does flow;A mark in every face I meet,Marks of weakness, marks of woe.In every cry of every man,In every infant's cry of fear,In every voice, in every ban,The mind-forged manacles I hear:How the chimney-sweeper's cryEvery blackening church appals,And the hapless soldier's sighRuns in blood down palace-walls.But most, through midnight streets I hearHow the youthful harlot's curseBlasts the new-born infant's tear,And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse."
"How can the bird that is born for joySit in a cage and sing?How can a child, when fears annoy,But droop his tender wing,And forget his youthful spring?"
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