Quotes About Imagination

My sister-in-law, Alicia, insisted that her son was a chosen fighter, blessed by God and immune to harm. The truth was far darker: every injury meant for him was being transferred onto my daughter. His congenital heart disease disappeared overnight. While most children his age were still carefully protected, he was already taking part in extreme sports and never suffered so much as a scratch. Meanwhile, my once-healthy daughter weakened day by day. She began to suffer unexplained fractures throughout her body. There was not a single place left uninjured. It was impossible not to see the connection. When I voiced my suspicions to my husband, Jeff Charlton, and my mother-in-law, Kelly Freeman, they dismissed me as delusional. They accused me of being jealous that Alicia had given birth to a prodigy, while I had nothing but a "worthless" daughter. Later, Alicia's son completed a trek across the Saharain Desert and became an overnight sensation, a child star adored by millions. At the same time, my daughter suddenly collapsed from heatstroke and died without warning. Alicia went live on her platform, accusing me of making false claims out of envy. Her followers believed every word. They hunted me down and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment Alicia first proclaimed her son a miracle child. This time, I was no longer a powerless mother. As a specialist doctor, I calmly pulled on my gloves. "Alicia," I said with a smile, "Let me examine my nephew and see if he's truly cured."

My sister and I married into the Phoenix Clan at the same time and, coincidentally, gave birth at the same time. After my sister birthed a purebred golden phoenix, the eldest prince she married was immediately crowned the next leader of the Phoenix Clan. Meanwhile, I gave birth to a mixed-bred pheasant and was condemned to death along with my husband, who was the second prince. It was only after my death that I found out the pheasant was my sister’s child! It was a ploy concocted by her and the eldest prince. The goal was to hide the bastard bloodline of the eldest prince and steal the throne of the Phoenix Clan. When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had been reborn. I didn't give birth, and my sister was visiting me with a haul of supplements…

In the tenth year of my marriage to a genius pianist, I came down with a strange illness. A month ago, my husband missed my birthday party to care for his ailing sister-in-law. Night after night, I had waited for him to return home. But that night I forgot to wait at all and went to bed early. Half a month ago, he attended an important performance with his sister-in-law. I had always been petty and prone to jealousy, yet this time I didn't get angry. I simply went home in silence. Three days ago, I fell seriously ill with a burning fever. My husband rushed back from out of town in a panic—but only to tend to his sister-in-law, whose hand had been scalded. When we ran into each other at the hospital, I was strangely calm. I, who used to be fiercely jealous, felt nothing at all. I forgot the promise we had made to grow old together. I even forgot how he once fretted over me for days when I'd scraped a bit of skin. It wasn't until he said he wanted to bring his sister-in-law home and take care of her for the rest of his life that I—my memories riddled with holes—summoned the system at last. "I want to go home."

When I was fifteen, I lent my rabbit’s foot luck to Shawn Crawford. Half a year later, his wealthy parents found him and came to the orphanage to take him home. When I was eighteen, I stopped him from getting involved with the school belle who bullied me. Later, the girl died on the spot in a car accident. Shawn blamed her death entirely on me. He prevented me from taking the college entrance examination and ruined my life. Forced into wandering homelessly, Shawn still refused to spare me. He sealed me inside a coffin and buried me alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn to when I was eighteen years old. This time, I would reclaim what was mine, my rabbit’s foot luck.

My adopted brother made a name for himself during the potion competition by using a potion he had stolen from me. No one expected the competition to be a ruse, but it turned out to be a scheme to find a husband for the serpent clan's youngest princess. She was born barren, cruel, and hideous. That very night, the serpent clan delivered a marriage contract, demanding that the creator of the potion take the princess as his wife. When my fiancée heard the news, she panicked and bonded with my adopted brother on the spot. After sealing their bond, he lifted his shirt, proudly showing me the wolf mark carved into his back. "Your fiancée's mine now, bro. What are you going to do? You'll turn twenty-five in three days. If no one marries you by then, you'll be randomly matched to one of those older, violent nomad beastwomen." He was wrong. I still had one choice left. I found my parents in the front hall, once again cleaning up the mess he had made. "If he won't marry the serpent princess," I said, "then I will."

I woke up inside a novel, and not even as an important character. I became a pretty background extra in a smut novel. My brother, however, was the only normal person in the entire story. His character setting was the one man the soft, delicate heroine could never win over. He was the cold, unattainable Prince Charming she could never conquer. When the heroine cried and confessed her love, he was studying. When she offered him her whole heart and body, he was busy starting a company. When she spiraled into scandals and nightlife, he was already a billionaire, calm and untouchable. I thought he would live a quiet, ascetic life forever. Until one night, I walked in on him at midnight… holding a piece of clothing I recognized all too well, murmuring a name over and over, a name so familiar that my scalp tingled.

I fail my mission and jump off a building to restart the game. Then, I become a billionaire and am rewarded with a handsome young man as soon as the game starts!

The year I hit rock bottom, I got sucked into a game. The rule was to survive a week on 50 dollars, and the winner would walk away with one million dollars. Everyone else was desperate to win, but I was the only one trying to escape. What they did not know was that I was the previous round's winner, and killing me meant they could steal my 500 million dollars.

Led by my ex-boyfriend, the police raid the base of the major crime syndicate. The antagonist takes his own life, and the only person who could prove my identity as a top-secret undercover operative died two weeks ago. My ex-boyfriend drags me into court. He wants my memories extracted so I can face public judgment and sentencing. Nevertheless, I have no intention of explaining myself. "I plead guilty. Grant me a swift death." The masses are outraged, despising me with every fiber of their being. "Ha! You despicable traitor! You monster! You're a rat who exposes undercover journalists, yet you dare ask for a swift death? "This is the world of a novel. The maximum penalty for a guilty plea is euthanasia, but if judgment is passed by the court, you will suffer endless torment until your last breath!" "You don't deserve euthanasia. You belong in hell!" Rotten eggs and stones pelt me mercilessly. Even with my face now covered in blood, I make no effort to avoid the assaults. I only longed for death. My ex-boyfriend glares at me coldly. "You betrayed me. What right do you have to ask for a swift death? Your memories must be extracted and judged in court. Death will come only after your torment!" They are the ones who demand my memories be extracted and judged, yet after seeing them, why are they also the ones who go mad with regret?

In my previous life, everything I do to care for myself somehow ends up benefiting my new housekeeper instead. I apply expensive skincare, yet dark spots and fine lines spread across my face, whereas the 45-year-old housekeeper's face becomes silkier. I jog every morning, yet my body only grows heavier and bulkier, while hers becomes slender and toned. When my husband notices the stretch marks on my abdomen, his face twists with disgust, and he never touches me again. "I genuinely can't bring myself to touch you. How can you look worse than Mirabelle when you take such good care of yourself?" My housekeeper looks at me with a sinister smile. A chill crawls up my spine, and the strange feeling makes me fire her on the spot. Yet, as soon as she leaves, I start aging at lightning speed, entering menopause 20 years early and developing diabetes and high blood pressure. I see every doctor I can, but after hanging on for a week, I die from a stroke. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day she first reports to work. This time, I push away the royal jelly she sets in front of me with a pleasant smile. "I've been avoiding certain foods lately. You can have it instead."