Imaginist

Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other?—How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and foresight!—especially with such a groundwork of anticipation as her mind had already made.

[…] there is something in the study itself only appreciable to a simple and earnest heart; it is not sufficiently sensual for the voluptuary, nor chimerical for the speculative imaginist […]

Mrs. Malaprop’s generally known axiom, “that it is as well to enter upon married life with a little aversion,” may, in some rare instances, have chanced to be verified. ¶ But contempt—could the severest, most blundering imaginist ever hope to realize the success of so very desperate an experiment?

“Who believed Le Petit,” continued the other. “The world took him to be a French imaginist like Chateaubriand . . . who the devil, Bramwell, supposed there was any truth in this old story? […]”

One evening, with no boisterous or bibulous Imaginists about her and no sign of any other callers, she suggested to the secretary of the school that they ought to play with the ouija board.

[…] during the years of the civil war, scarcely any works of pure literature were printed at all. Poetry was recited orally: futurists and their close literary allies, the imaginists, organized poetry soirées, open to the public, in Moscow cafés.

During the worst days of Bolshevík tyranny, when book publishing had become impossible, the imaginists were a living reminder of undying freedom; they were the only independent group that were not afraid to make themselves noticed by the authorities, and they were wonderfully skilled in getting their slender little collections and manifestoes printed by fair means or foul.