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I loved the world of imagination.

I spent my childhood in an imaginary world - probably because I needed an escape. I think that's one of the reasons people have imaginations - because they can't maintain existence here.

There was part of me that wanted to see the world and travel to distant places, but I could only do it in my imagination, so I read ferociously and imagined things.

I had a good imagination and I still have one; a child-like imagination that hasn't gone away.

My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world, and exiles me from it.

I was a real daydreamer at school, gazing out of the window and losing myself in imaginary worlds.

I've spent my life butting my head against other people's lack of imagination.

When in the end, the day came on which I was going away, I learned the strange learning that things can happen which we ourselves cannot possibly imagine, either beforehand, or at the time when they are taking place, or afterwards when we look back on them.

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