Quotes About Reality

I think all worlds are magic. We just get used to it.

It was no dream she said. Dreams fade. Reality doesn't.

Fiction is a lie. And GOOD fiction is the truth inside the lie.

A lawyer's answer...so close to the truth that the truth was able to hide in its shadow.

In a terrified world, false news was king.

But a spider was, after all, only a spider. Perhaps at the end, when the masks of horror were laid aside, there was nothing with which the human mind could not cope.

In many ways the world is nothing but a pile of shit. But it can also be very beautiful.

people always want a reason for the bad things in life. Sometimes there ain't one.

This was the Darker Life, where every truth was written backward.

We rarely get what we imagine in this world.

The world is a worst case scenario and I'm afraid that all you sense is true

Kids, fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists. S.K.

It wasn't fair, but what is? Life is a crap carnival with shit prizes.

The dream didn't fade as dreams usually do upon waking.

Do you believe in an afterlife? the gunslinger asked him as Brown dropped three ears of hot corn onto his plate. Brown nodded. I think this is it.

if you tell yourself the great lie of bad art-that you are in charge-your chance at the truth will be lost. The truth isn't always pretty.

What if there were no grownups? Suppose the whole idea of grownups was an illusion? What if their money was really just playground marbles, their business deals no more than baseball-card trades, their wars only games of guns in the park? What if they were all still snotty-nosed kids inside their suits and dresses? Christ, that couldn't be, could it? It was too horrible to think about.

Dreams age faster than dreamers.

How life did imitate art sometimes. And the cruder the art, the closer the imitation.

And what makes you think you're a main character in anything but your own mind?

If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one–probably a child–who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.

By and large... the good's an illusion, little fables folks tell themselves so they can get through their days without screaming too much.

Things conceived by minds and made by hands can never be quite the same, even if they try their best to be identical, because they're never the same from day to day or even moment to moment.

But storytelling always changes time. At least it does in my world.