Quotes About Reality

You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back Down to this cold, cold world

California was a great place to get over mysticism in the 1960s and 1970s. Such an endless parade of gurus and mystics came through, peddling their wares, that they canceled each other out. They couldn't compete with the drugs, and the drugs canceled each other out as well. Fervent visions, shared to excess, became clanking clichés. All that was left was daily reality, with its endless negotiation, devoid of absolutes, but alive with surprises.

The clothes have no emperor.

The city was a puzzle box built of symbols, a confusion of old and new, armored cars and donkeys in the streets, Bedouins and bankers. The Turks and Haredim, the showy Greek and Russian processions -- everyone seemed to be in costume, reenacting the miraculous past.

Then I discovered that being related is no guarantee of love!

ExperienÈ›a[..] este cap?tul unor încerc?ri fructoase, întreprinse cu cel mai des?vârÈ™it cinism, de a nega toate acele lucruri pe care le-au preÈ›uit ca adev?rate,curate,drepte. Ei unii nu-È™i dau seama de teribilul cinism care zace în aceast? permanent? definire a experienÈ›ei ca suprem scop al vieÈ›ii.

I think that the more theoretical knowledge you obtain, the more multifarious and kaleidoscopic your view becomes of the reality that lurks behind concepts. This reality is so insatiably rich that a fixed determinant of a concept's position must simply be an absurdity.

Het is altijd de eeuwige, voorgehouden waarheid die niemand ontgaan kan: dat men in 't zelfde vel blijft steken waarin men geboren is... dat men niet buiten de dingen kan die u omgeven, tenzij in den droom.

no experience feels real anymore—just filtered and retouched, edited and tagged. How we create curated versions of ourselves until we don't know who we really are. How our entire species is sleepwalking toward oblivion. How survival doesn't seem like a possibility. How time doesn't feel like it's passing anymore, just running out.

none of it's real. Desire, power, money—none of it. They're just systems of control men came up with after they were done hunting and gathering.

Faith is worth abandoning over the truth

He was like a spirit cut free from reality. He was adrift, helpless, insubstantial.

Impulsively, I reached out to touch him him, even though I knew such action would evaporate his fragile corporeality. My hand touched silky hair, felt the hardness of skull beneath. I pulled away, gasping, drawing up my knees. This was too real.

Dream or reality? I still don't know which. But I was aware, in my heart, that illusion or not, I was no longer virgin in this body, and that Beth Metatronim was responsible for it.

You are unbelievable at times." "Many people have thought so," Shem answered dryly, "but despite unbelief, I still exist.

He knew he could not get close to Ays, for Ays was the part of himself that was distant. He could only ever be a phantom in Ays's reality, reaching out to touch, to communicate, yet fruitlessly because he was mute and limbless. In some strange way, even though he knew himself to be the author of Ays' life, he was but an observer on the boundary of it; helpless.

Beth was a pleasurable fantasy, but I liked to think she looked upon me as an imaginary friend.

I remembered how she had fought against my presence in the past, and how, in secret moments she had opened her heart to me, telling me she knew I wasn't real, but that in many ways, I was more real to her than anything. How I had longed to reveal myself to her at those times. Perhaps I should have.

In Sector 23, life imitates art.

She was finding it increasingly difficult to dispel the illusion she was speaking to Khaster. Merlan was someone else; she must be careful.

Here the play of light from high roof-windows on fountains and pools created a moving fresco on the patterned walls. Where the columns thinned in number, a great plaza was revealed: the place where Roirbak worked and played. The austere shapes and superimposed perspectives of this ostentatious indulgence produced effects that made Tammuz feel as if he were trapped in some Cubist virtual reality.

I studied her beautiful features. No, this was a real person; she was not an image, not a ghost, not a fantasy.

At one time, he had been prepared to sacrifice the boy, but Daniel believed the reality of Shemyaza, as an ideal, and had forgiven him for the deeds of Peveral Othman.

I do not feel quite real today. How quickly things can change.