Quotes About Reality

I have learned something that many women these days never learn: Prince Charming really is a toad. And the beautiful Princess has halitosis. The bottom line is that a) people are never perfect, but love can be, b) that is the one and only way that they mediocre and the vile can be transformed, and c) doing that makes it that. Loving makes love. Loving makes itself. We waste time looking for the perfect lover instead of creating the perfect love. Wouldn't that be the way to make love stay?

A book no more contains reality than a clock contains time.

Once, in a spasm of sappiness, you asked Q-Jo if she thought your dreams would ever come true. 'You aren't talking about dreams,' she corrected you, 'you're referring to your pathetic bourgeoisie ambitions. Dreams don't come true. Dreams are true.

Is that man's fate: to spend his closest hours to truth longing for a lie?

It seems like with you everything leads back to the subject of death. Sure and show me the person's road that does not lead to death. we try to divert our attention, to pretend 'tisn't so, but the very air we breathe is vulture's breath. Please don't be insinuatin' your man is morbid. I dwell on death in order to defeat it.

The inability to correctly perceive reality is often responsible for humans' insane behavior. And every time they substitute an all-purpose, sloppy slang word for words that would accurately describe an emotion or a situation, it lowers their reality orientations, pushes them farther from shore, out onto the foggy waters of alienation and confusion.

Those people who recognize that imagination is reality's master, we call "sages," and those who act upon it, we call "artists.

this lonely, uncompromising, obsessive tug-of-war with presumed reality, this is what art is all about.

It was wonderful, Pris. What was, honey? The meeting? The champagne? The eclipse, said Ricki. It was probably the most real thing I've ever seen, but it was also like a dream. You know what I mean? Real and unreal, beautiful and strange, like a dream. It got me high as a kite, but it didn't last long enough. It ended too soon and left nothing behind. That's how it is with dreams, said Priscilla. They're the perfect crime.

Okay, it is what it is and I am what I it, but its isness and my itness seem to be stretching the meaning of is and it.

every time they substitute an all-purpose, sloppy slang word for the words that would accurately describe an emotion or a situation, it lowers their reality orientations, pushes them farther from shore, out onto the foggy waters of alienation and confusion.

even though the mind of humanity was ultimately one mind, still, each and every single individual had to establish his or her own special, personal, particular, unique, direct, one-on-one, hands-on relationship with reality, with the universe, with the Divine. It might be complicated, it might be a pain in the ass, it might be, most of all, lonely—but it was the bottom line.

Men live by embedding themselves in ongoing systems of illusion. Religion. Patriotism. Economics. Fashion. That sort of thing.

Life isn't simple; it's overwhelmingly complex. The love of simplicity is an escapist drug, like alcohol.

Kat? gerçekler hayat?n tek gerçekleri deÄŸil. Pek çok ve çeÅŸitli gerçekler vard?. Ä°nsan enerjisini doÄŸru odaklayabilirs, hangi gerçekte yaÅŸamak istiyorsa, belli bir noktaya kadar, onu seçmeyi baÅŸarabilirdi. Belki gerçeklerin en kat?s?ndan bile kurnaz davranabilir, onu bile yenebilirdi.

Logic only gives a man what he needs...Magic gives him what he wants.

I am what I it. It is what is is.

dreams don't come true, dreams are true.

Just as the overturned bucket that was once brimming seems so much emptier than the bucket that never held milk in the first place. Thanks for filling my little pail.

You can hook a rainbow to a goofy vision -Jellybean is doing that- but you can't hook a rainbow to a lie

Reality is subjective, and there's an unenlightened tendency in this culture to regard something as 'important' only if 'tis sober and severe.

modern painting and the psychedelic sacraments -- offered humanity a new way of seeing, an enlarged and deepened definition of reality, a freshened and intensely sensual awareness of what it means to be a cognitive mammal on a tiny planet spinning precariously in the backwash of an infinite universe, a perpetually endangered species kept alive -- and occasionally driven quite mad -- by its capacity to love.

It's meaning that is of no meaning. That paradox is the key to the meaning of meaning. To look for meaning--or the lack of it--in things is a game played by beings of limited consciousness. Behind everything in life is a process that is beyond meaning. Not beyond understanding, mind you, but beyond meaning.

Who knows what causes the human brain to split its britches. It would seem that the brain hangs so many curtains between itself and the true universe that eventually light can no longer reach it, and it molds and rots and festers in the dark.