Words, he decided, were inadequate at best, impossible at worst. They meant too many things. Or they meant nothing at all.

Imagination is the golden-eyed monster that never sleeps. It must be fed; it cannot be ignored.

Then you will have to trust me. Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond hope, trust me.

I write fantasy because it's there. I have no other excuse for sitting down for several hours a day indulging my imagination. Daydreaming. Thinking up imaginary people, impossible places.

Research the imagination. It was as obsolete as the appendix in most adults, except for those in whom, like the appendix, it became inflamed for no reason.

[Imagination] must be visited constantly, or else it begins to become restless and emit strange bellows at embarrassing moments; ignoring it only makes it grow larger and noisier.

Only yesterday a young woman came to me wanting a trap set for a man with a sweet smile and lithe arms. She was a fool, not for wanting him, but for wanting more of him than that.