Quotes About Reality

Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die.

Words, dimly familiar but twisted all awry, like faces in a funhouse mirror, fled past, leaving no impression on the glassy surface of my brain.

Tudo o que eu já lera sobre gente maluca havia se fixado no meu cérebro, enquanto o resto evaporou.

Y yo sabía que a pesar de todas las rosas y besos y cenas en restaurantes que un hombre hacía llover sobre una mujer antes de casarse con ella, lo que secretamente deseaba para cuando la ceremonia de boda terminase era aplastarla bajo sus pies como la alfombra de la señora Willard.

What did I think was wrong? That made it sound as if nothing was really wrong, I only thought is was wrong.

Një ëndërr e keqe. Për njeriun që gjendet brenda këmbanës së qelqtë, i zbrazët dhe i bllokuar si një foshnjë e vdekur, vetë bota është një ëndërr e keqe.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again.

morrer é uma arte, como tudo o mais. nisso sou excepcional. desse jeito faço parecer infernal. desse jeito faço parecer real. vão dizer que tenho vocação

I have to live my life, and it is the only one I'll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time...

Co je tak reálné jako kÃ…â"¢ik dítÄ›te? Králi?í skÃ…â"¢ek je možná divo?ejÅ¡í, ten ale nemá duÅ¡i.

Se zgâia la imaginea ei în ferestrele lucioase ale magazinelor de parc? ar fi vrut s? se asigure, clip? de clip?, c? exist? în continuare.

A bad dream. To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream

I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.

Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, "Do you know what a poem is, Esther?" "No, what?" I would say. "A piece of dust." Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, "So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.

What did I think was wrong? That made it sound as if nothing was really wrong, I only thought it was wrong.

Every world crowns its own kings, laurels it own gods. A Hans Anderson book cover opens its worlds: the snowqueen, bluewhite as ice, flies in a sleigh through her snow-thick air: our hearts are ice. Always: sludge, offal, shit against palaces of diamond. That man could dream god and heaven: how mud labors. We burn in our own fire.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream... I remembered everything... Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.

ÄŒo si myslím, že so mnou nie je v poriadku? Znelo to, akoby v skuto?nosti so mnou bolo vÅ¡etko v poriadku, ako keby som si len myslela, že so mnou nie?o nie je v poriadku.

Never mind the three dimensions All is flat, and you not there.

to learn that you can never learn anything valid for truth, only momentary, transitory sayings that apply to you in your moment, your locality, and your present state of mind

So these posed sheets, before they thin to nothing, Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up.

Very simply, you were not wise to give me your image. You should know your woman, and be kind. You expect too much of me; you know I am not strong enough to live merely in that abstract Platonic realm out of time and flesh on the other side of all those mirrors.

We all live in our own dream-worlds and make and re-make our own personal realities with tender and loving care.