Quotes About Reality

No," he said. "I don't think it's better for grown-ups. I think you were right the first time. Being a person is just hard." "Why doesn't anybody say so, then?" "That's

Son, don't you ever be sorry for saying what's really true, especially not in a room like this that's just made for that. The way you feel is the way you feel, and no matter how much you think you should feel some other way, you can't change that. There's some things in this life you can change and some you can't.

Imagination is the power to form in our minds the images of reality. Fowler sees imagination as a powerful force in all learning not just in faith development. When young children use imagination to form their image of God, they are using a natural tool for learning.

We need not fear that children with creative imaginations will make God into nothing more than their other fantasies. The unseen God is real to children.

Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all.

You will live as you live anywhere. With difficulty, and grief. Yes, you are dead. And I and my family and everyone, always, forever. All dead, like stones. But what does it matter? You still have to go to work in the morning. You still have to live.

Just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real.

A labyrinth, when it is big enough, is just the world.

A tale may have exactly three beginnings: one for the audience, one for the artist, and one for the poor bastard who has to live in it.

Children make prayers so thoughtlessly, building them up like sand castles—and they are always surprised when suddenly the castle becomes real, and the iron gate grinds shut.

Don't you ever feel like you're just a story someone is telling about someone like you?

How much better if life were more like books, if life lied a little more, and gave up its stubborn and boring adherence to the way things can be, and thought a little more imaginatively about the way things might be.

What was magical at two in the morning was tawdry and cheap and dangerous to your health at two in the afternoon.

Here's something I bet you don't know: every time someone writes a story about a dragon a real dragon dies. Something about seeing and being seen something about mirrors that old tune about how a photograph can take your whole soul. At the end of this poem I'm going to go out like electricity in an ice storm. I've made peace with it.

Yes, Marya thought, the smell of woodsmoke and old snow pushing back her long black hair. Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all.

The Marquess laughed her knife-like laugh again. "Do you think Fairyland loves you? That it will keep you close and dear, because you are a good girl and I am not? Fairyland loves no one. It has no heart. It doesn't care. It will spit you back out just like it did me.

The kind of hope I have doesn't begin and end with demanding everything go back to the way it was when it can't, it can't ever, that's not how time works.

You should always listen to minotaurs. Anybody with four stomachs has to have a firm grip on reality.

Americans all acted like they were trying to pretend they hadn't just chased a fistful of ecstasy with a noseful of coke to save themselves from a police officer only they could see.

Nothing real is pretty, she said. Only a doll is pretty. And a pretty doll drinks out of a tiny cup forever. A woman wants a big cup.

You see her as you see anyone in this world: distorted, warped, reflected, refracted, contorted, mutilated by time.

However unlikely it may seem, it is the truth and, therefore, one hundred percent likely.

In future days you will call John Mandeville a liar, and my shade will laugh at you and say: true, true, I was, but not always, not so. When the world was good enough in my sight, when it behaved as wildly and gorgeously as I always knew it could, I told the truth of it.

Actors are liars. Writers, too. The whole lot of them, even the horn players and the fortune-tellers and the freaks and the strongmen. Even the ladies with rings in their noses and high heels on their feet playing violins all along the Pier and the lie they are all singing and dancing and saying is We can get the old world back again .