Dreams and Imagination

They dance between their arclamps and our skull, Impose their shots, throwing the nights away. We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill, Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea.

Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.

Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art, as of life.

We live, as we dream—alone.

Oh Sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Thou hast the keys of Paradise, oh just, subtle, and mighty opium!

My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,

Explore your higher latitudes . . . be a Columbus to whole new continents and worlds within you, open new channels, not of trade but of thought.

We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts we make the world.

If the imagination is to yield any real product, it must have received a great deal of material from the external world.

Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.

Dreams nourish the soul just as food nourishes the body.

Imagination is the true magic carpet.

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it, we go nowhere.

I wish to work miracles

When you know that illusion and transformation are no different from birth and death, then you may learn magic

Focus more on your desire than on your doubt, and the dream will take care of itself.

There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.

Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear.

O! then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you!… She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.

Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come when you do call for them?

Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.