Quotes About Reality

Above the counter where the ranks of crisp shapes behind the glass her neat gray face her hair tight and sparse from her neat gray skull, spectacles in neat gray rims riding approaching like something on a wire, like a cash box in a store. She looked like a librarian. Something among dusty shelves of ordered certitudes long divorced from reality, desiccating peacefully, as if a breath of that air which sees injustice done

Sometimes I aint so sho who's got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he aint. Sometimes I think it aint none of us pure crazy and aint none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It's like it aint so much what a fellow does, but it's the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it. Because

and Judith, the young girl dreaming, not living, in her complete detachment and imperviousness to actuality almost like physical deafness.

The very fact that he could and did see no paradox in the fact that he took an active part in a partisan war and on the very side whose principles opposed to his own, was proof enough that he was two separate and complete people, one of whom dwelled by serene rules in a world where reality did not exist.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or town.

It is not realities, circumstances, that astonish us; it is the concussion of what we should have known, if we had only not been so busy believing what we discover later we had taken for the truth for no other reason than that we happened to be believing it at the moment.

Sometimes I ain't so sho who's got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he ain't. Sometimes I think it ain't none of us pure crazy and ain't none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It's like it ain't so much what a fellow does, but it's the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it.

And so at least we will all be together where we belong, since even if only he went there we would still have to be there too since the three of us are just illusions that he begot, and your illusions are a part of you like your bones and flesh and memory.

Los hombres no son más que muñecos rellenos de aserrín recogido en los montones de basura donde todos los muñecos anteriores había sido tirados.

Los hombres no son más que muñecos rellenos de aserrín recogido en los montones de basura donde todos los muñecos anteriores habían sido tirados.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind--and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

sonra yirmi beÅŸ dolarla ne yapabileceklerini konuÅŸmaya baÅŸlad?lar. Hep birden konuÅŸuyorlard?, sesleri direnmeli, çeliÅŸmeli ve sab?rs?z gerçeksizliÄŸi bir olurluluk yap?yor, sonra bir olanak ÅŸekline sokuyor sonra yads?nmaz bir gerçek yap?yor, her zaman böyle olur zaten insanlar?n istekleri sözcükler haline gelince.

Ä°lk olarak Addie Bundren'?n yapt??? herhangi bir ÅŸeyi saklad???n? görüyordum, o Addie Bundren ki içinde yalan bulunan bir evrende yalandan baÅŸka hiçbir ÅŸeyin, yoksulluÄŸun bile, çok kötü ya da çok önemli olamayaca??n? öÄŸretmiÅŸti bize.

Then there is the human factor. As a variation on the old maxim has it, "Big waves are not measured in feet, but in increments of bullshit.

Big waves are not measured in feet, but in increments of bullshit." When

Still, I wondered what Sam, mental illness and all, might have to tell us about adulthood. Why, for example, did it seem to be always receding as a concept, even as we got older?

The most difficult challenge to the ideal is its transformation into reality, and few ideals survive.

You just can't understand anything you can't get your hands on, anything you can't feel or see or, or count...

It's just, sometimes it's just too God damned long to be able to keep believing something's real...

And that is why people read novels, to identify projections of their own unconscious. The hero has to be fearfully real, to convince them of their own reality, which they rather doubt. A novel without a hero would be distracting in the extreme. They have to know what you think, or good heavens, how can they know that you're going through some wild conflict, which is after all the duty of a hero.

Order is simply a thin, perilous condition we try to impose on the basic reality of chaos.

With nothing of value to show the fact will disappear. There is no fact but value.

He began to suspect another, deeper layer of time, a time of stone and cloud and tree to which the time of clocks and calendars was a gross mockery cobbled up by savages. He felt the ways of men fall from him like sundered shackles.

You get a picture of things in your head and your picture is all you see. You don't know me. You don't even know yourself. All you know is your little picture of how things ought to be, and that's the way you think they are.