Quotes About Reality

Now I knew: things are entirely what they appear to be—and behind them . . . there is nothing. This

We have to deal with human reality as a being which is what it is not and which is not what it is.

You are what you are not and are not what you are.

No, my child, these things are impossible. It would have been better if she had recognize the truth courageously. She would have suffered once, then time would have erased with its sponge. There is nothing like looking things in the face, believe me.

This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell.

The idea is still there, unnameable. It waits, peacefully. Now it seems to say: "Yes? Is that what you wanted? Well, that's exactly what you've never had (remember you fooled yourself with words, you called the glitter of travel, the love of women, quarrels, and trinkets adventure) and this is what you'll never have—and no one other than yourself." But Why? WHY?

This instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in and limits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.

Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal.

In the distance. Above my head; above my head; and this instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in and limits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.

But faced with this great wrinkled paw, neither ignorance nor knowledge was important: the world of explanations and reasons is not the world of existence.

the diversity of things, their individuality, were only an appearance, a veneer. This veneer had melted, leaving soft, monstrous masses, all in disorder—naked, in a frightful, obscene nakedness.

Don't you ever get taken that way? When I can't see myself I begin to wonder if I really and truly exist. I pat myself just to make sure, but it doesn't help much.

I feel there are no more perfect moments. I feel it in my legs when I walk. I feel it all the time, even when I sleep. I can't forget it. I am dazzled, uncomfortable, I can't get used to it.

Mais comme mes regards tombaient sur le bloc de feuilles blanches, je fus saisi par son aspect et je restai, la plume en l'air, à contempler ce papier éblouissant : comme il était dur et voyant, comme il était présent. Il n'y avait rien en lui que du présent. Les lettres que je venais d'y tracer n'étaient pas encore sèches et déjà elles ne m'appartenaient plus.

Dans mes mains, par exemple, il y a quelque chose de neuf, une certaine façon de prendre ma pipe ou ma fourchette. Ou bien c'est la fourchette qui a, maintenant, une certaine façon de se faire prendre, je ne sais pas.

C'est ça le temps, le temps tout nu, ça vient lentement à l'existence, ça se fait attendre et quand ça vient, on est écoeuré parce qu'on s'aperçoit que c'était déjà là depuis longtemps.

Hiçbir ÅŸey deÄŸiÅŸmedi, ama yine de her ÅŸey baÅŸka bir biçimde var olup gidiyor. Anlatam?yorum. Bulant?ya benziyor bu, ama ayn? zamanda onun tam tersi.

When I can't see myself I begin to wonder if I really and truly exist. I pat myself just to make sure, but it doesn't help much.

Many people are walking along the shore, turning poetic springtime faces towards the sea; they're having a holiday because of the sun. [...] The true sea is cold and black, full of animals; it crawls under this thin green film made to deceive human beings.

Yani sen...bütün o... anl?k trajediler, içinde maskelerin, ÅŸallar?n, mobilyalar?n ve benim birer küçük rol, senin de büyük bir rol oynad???n trajediler bitti mi art?k?

But I can't see anything any more: however much I search the past I can only retrieve scraps of images and I am not sure what they represent, nor whether they are remembered or invented.

Things are entirely what they appear to be and BEHIND THEM... there is nothing.

What he [the intellectual] should learn to do is to put what he has been able to salvage from the disciplines that taught him universal techniques, directly at the service of the masses. Intellectuals must learn to understand the universal that the masses want, in reality, in the immediate, at this very moment.

And naturally, everything they tell about in books can happen in real life, but not in the same way. It is to this way of happening that I clung so tightly.