Quotes About Reality

Love does not make you weak, because it is the source of all strength, but it makes you see the nothingness of the illusory strength on which you depended before you knew it.

Words are naught but wind, and the fairest promises like dreams that take flight with the morning.

all your dreams become reality...lust, love, and companionship all in one man.

Without the ontological assumption which goes with it, what is called science, is nothing but the dreamer's well-ordered dream.

Democritus says, But we know nothing really for truth lies deep down.

The question was put to him, what hope is and his answer was, The dream of a waking man.

A che pro disegnare l'Impossibile? Perché è la verità, forse velata e mascherata, ma eterna.

As for the wine in the cups, it looked like water; but, as it tasted all right, what did its looks signify?

There is no loss-because there is not any Self that can be lost. Whatsoever was, that you have been;- whatsoever is, that you are;- whatsoever will be, that you must become. Personality!- individuality!- the ghosts of a dream in a dream! Life infinite only there is; and all that appears to be is but the thrilling of it, -sun, moon, and stars, -earth, sky, and sea,-and Mind and Man, and Space and Time. All of them are shadows. The shadows come and go;- the Shadow-Maker shapes forever.

We owe more to our illusions than to our knowledge.

Truth is only a question of point of view.

Attempts to wake before our time are often punished, especially by those who love us most. Because they, bless them, are asleep. They think anyone who wakes up, or who, still asleep, realizes that what is taken to be real is a "dream" is going crazy.

They are playing a game. They are playing at not playing a game. If I show them I see they are, I shall break the rules and they will punish me. I must play their game, of not seeing I see the game.

No one has schizophrenia, like having a cold. The patient has not "got" schizophrenia. He is schizophrenic.

In the society of men the truth resides now less in what things are than in what they are not.

In the context of our present pervasive madness that we call normality, sanity, freedom, all our frames of reference are ambiguous and equivocal.

Philosophy does not exist. It is nothing but an hypostatized abstraction.

Our social realities are so ugly if seen in the light of exiled truth, and beauty is almost no longer possible if it is not a lie.

The statesmen of the world who boast and threaten that they have Doomsday weapons are far more dangerous, and far more estranged from "reality," than many of the people on whom the label "psychotic" is affixed.

Human beings seem to have an almost unlimited capacity to deceive themselves, and to deceive themselves into taking their own lies for truth.

As for fairy tales, he understood that they were reflections of the people who had spun them, and were flecked with little truths - intrusions of reality into fantasy, like toast crumbs on a wizard's beard.

On the occasions that he did look up from the page, he would seem as though he were awakening from a dream.

There was only present, and it was infinite. The past and the future were just blinders we wore so that infinity wouldn't drive us mad.

War does that, nothing for it. Reality lays siege. Your framed portrait of life is smashed, and a new one thrust upon you. It's ugly, and you don't even want to look at it let alone hang it on the wall, but you have no choice, once you know. Once you really know.