Quotes About Reality

Subject and object are not as distinct as most people think. If the boundary separating the two isn't clear-cut to begin with, it is not such a difficult task to intentionally shift back and forth from one to the other.

Sometimes I get the feeling that everything that happened to me was some kind of illusion. It's as though something happened to make me think that things happened that never really happened at all. But I know for sure that they did happen.

A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

I stepped out of the shower and dried my hair, rubbed on body lotion, cleaned my ears. Then to the kitchen to heat up the last of the coffee. Only to discover: no one sitting at the opposite side of the table. Staring at that chair where no one sat, I felt like a tiny child in a De Chirico painting, left behind all alone in a foreign country.

El conocimiento es así. El mundo cambia según nuestra percepción. Existe, sin duda alguna, aquí y de esta forma, pero, desde el punto de vista fenoménico el mundo no es sino una posibilidad entre un número infinito de posibilidades. Para ser más preciso, el mundo cambia según dé uno un paso hacia la derecha o hacia la izquierda. Por lo tanto, el mundo se modifica a medida que cambian los recuerdos.

The longer you stay in here , the more you get to thinking that things are normal.

Al fin y al cabo, perder a una mujer consistía en eso. Perder esos momentos especiales que invalidaban la realidad, aun estando integrados en ella.

Aquilo que os nossos olhos vêem nem sempre corresponde à realidade.

I get up out of bed. I pull back the old, faded curtain and open the window. I stick my head out and look up at the sky. Sure enough, a mouldy-coloured half-moon hangs in the sky. Good. We're both looking at the same moon, in the same world. We're connected to reality by the same line. All I have to do is quietly draw it towards me.

It's not so strange that when your memories change, the world changes.

Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes.

I don't know how to put it, but I just can't get it through my head that here and now is really here and now. Or that I am really me. It doesn't quite hit home. It's always this way. Only much later on does it ever come together. For the last ten years, it's been like this.

Gradually, I was getting worn down. My sense of direction had evaporated by our fourth day. When south became the opposite of east, I bought a compass, but going around with a compass only made the city seem less and less real. The buildings began to look like backdrops in a photography studio, the people walking in the streets like cardboard cutouts.

As he watched his father, Tengo started to have doubts about the difference between a person being alive and being dead. Maybe there really wasn't much of a difference to begin with, he though, maybe we just decided, for convenience's sake, to insist on a difference.

Am I happy? If you asked me this, I'd have to say, 'Yeah, I guess.' Because dreams are, after all, just that: dreams.

Pero como siempre, las cosas nunca salen como uno desea. Es más, el mundo parecía conocer a la perfección qué era lo que él (Tengo) no deseaba

When you prick a person with a needle, red blood comes out- that's the real world.

Metaphysics is never more than semantic pleasantries anyway.

Es algo muy extraño. Me refiero a los terremotos. Nosotros estamos firmemente convencidos de que, bajo nuestros piel, la tierra es algo consistenre, sólido, inamovible. Existe incluso la expresión . Sin embargo, un día, de repente nos damos cuenta de que no es así. La tierra y las rocas, que se suponían sólidas, se reblandecen.

Life is strange, isn't it? You can be totally entranced by the glow of something one minute, be willing to sacrifice everything to make it yours, but then a little time passes, or your perspective changes a bit, and all of a sudden you're shocked at how faded it appears. What was I looking at?

No one noticed that I had changed- that I had given up sleep entirely, that I was spending all my time reading, that my mind was someplace a hundred years - and hundreds of miles - from reality.

I think most people live in a fiction. I'm no exception. Think of it in terms of a car's transmission. It's like a transmission that stands between you and the harsh realities of life. You take the raw power from outside and use gears to adjust it so everything's all nicely in sync. That's how you keep your fragile body intact. Does this make any sense?

But listen to me--there are times in life when those kinds of excuses don't cut it anymore. Situations when nobody cares whether you're suited for the task at hand or not.

Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands (Salon, 20 February 2009).