Quotes About Reality

Es tan duro de matar un fantasma como una realidad.

Here is something definite, something real. Thus, waking from a midnight dream of horror, one hastily turns on the light and lies quiescent, worshipping the chest of drawers, worshipping solidity, worshipping reality, worshipping the impersonal world which is a proof of some existence other than ours. That is what one wants to be sure of…

Nothing could be seen whole or read from start to finish. What was seen begun - like two friends starting to meet each other across the street - was never seen ended. After twenty minutes the body and mind were like scraps of torn paper tumbling from a sack and, indeed, the process of motoring fast out of London so much resembles the chopping small of identity which precedes unconsciousness and perhaps death itself...

It appeared that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was for. Reality dwelling in what one saw and felt, but did not talk about, one could accept a system in which things went round and round quite satisfactorily to other people, without often troubling to think about it, except as something superficially strange.

The sky is blue,' he said, 'the grass is green.' Looking up, he saw that, on the contrary, the sky is like the veils which a thousand Madonnas have let fall from their hair; and the grass fleets and darkens like a flight of girls fleeing the embraces of hairy satyrs from enchanted woods.

Virtually all the characters in the novel have failed to live up to their early dreams and ambitions.

Tâchons de croire que la vie est un objet solide, un globe que nous pouvons faire tourner sous nos doigts. Tâchons de croire qu'on peut faire un récit simple et logique, en finir avec l'amour, par exemple, et passer au chapitre suivant.

C'est pourquoi je hais les miroirs qui me montrent mon vrai visage. Seule, je tombe souvent dans le néant. Je dois poser le pied prudemment sur le rebord du monde, de peur de tomber dans le néant. Je suis forcée de me cogner la tête contre une porte bien dure, pour me contraindre à rentrer dans mon propre corps.»

There was no treachery too base for the world to commit; she knew that. No happiness lasted; she knew that.

If one shuts one's eyes and thinks of the novel as a whole, it would seem to be a creation owning a certain looking-glass likeness to life, though of course with simplifications and distortions innumerable.

Fiction must stick to facts, and the truer the facts the better the fiction.

sembrava fosse diventato fisicamente quello che loro avevano segretamente custodito nella loro mente – quella solitudine che era per entrambi la verità delle cose.

toda a pompa é construída sobre a corrupção; como o esqueleto jaz por baixo da carne; como nós, que dançamos e cantamos na superfície, ficaremos embaixo; como o veludo púrpura se transforma em pó; como o anel (aqui Orlando, inclinando sua lanterna, apanharia um anel de ouro faltando uma pedra que rolara para um canto) perdia seu rubi e como o olho, que fora tão radiante, deixara de brilhar.

Essi divenivano parte di quell'universo irreale, ma fervido e intenso, che è il mondo visto attraverso occhi d'amore.

But what are stories? Toys I twist, bubbles I blow, one ring passing through another. And sometimes I begin to doubt if there are stories.

Dünyay? avucunun içine al?yor. Bir say? yazmaya baÅŸl?yorum, dünya içinde ilmek oluyor; ama ben d???nday?m ÅŸimdi birleÅŸtirdiÄŸim, mühürlediÄŸim, bütünlediÄŸim ilmeÄŸin. Dünya bir bütün, ben d???nday?m.

There was a bill that he would pay with a real two shilling piece, and it was real, all real, he assured himself, fingering the coin in his pocket, real to everyone except to him and to her; even to him it began to seem real; and then–but it was too exciting to stand and think any longer, and he pulled the parasol out of the earth with a jerk and was impatient to find the place where one had tea with other people, like other people.

Ha fontolóra vesszük a dolgot, ki tudja, nem ezt gondolta-e talán: vajon valóban mindent ki tudnak mondani a szavak? Mondanak egyáltalán valamit? Nem rombolják-e le a valóságot, mely egyszer?en meghaladja a teljesítÅ'képességüket?

De mit jelent az, hogy ugyanÅ'? Az, amit látunk, vagy az, ami vagyunk?

Részei lettek annak a valószer?tlen, de átható és izgató mindenségnek, ami a szerelem szemével nézve a világ.

acolo, de-a curmeziÈ™ul golfului È™i printre dune, z?cea prietenia lui, p?strîndu-È™i întreaga vitalitate È™i realitate, asemenea cadavrului unui tîn?r care ar fi r?mas îngropat un secol în turb?, conservîndu-È™i roÈ™eaÈ›a proasp?t? a buzelor.

Én, kezemben a jegyzetfüzetemmel, kifejezéseket gyártva, csupán a változásokat jegyeztem; árnyék-magam csak az árnyakat figyelte szorgalmasan. Hogyan folytassam utamat, mondtam, én nélkül, súlytalanul, látomások nélkül egy súlytalan és illúziók nélkül való világban?

Do you exist? Have I made you up?

Quién no piensa en el pasado en un jardín con hombres y mujeres tumbados bajo los árboles? ¿Acaso estos hombres y mujeres, estos fantasmas tumbados bajo los árboles, no son nuestro pasado, todo lo que queda de él..., nuestra felicidad, nuestra realidad?