Quotes About Reality

Love is something you can never get inside of. You might think you're there. Sure. But then you hit the border and realize you've been outside the whole time.

Estou aprendendo que uma vida não é real até alguém mais conhecer sua realidade. E quero que minha vida seja real.

Sisters dress up to rehearse for what will really happen to them. But brothers, Elijah realizes, are never rehearsing that way. They rehearse their own illusions, until reality takes a turn and they are asked to rehearse for other things. You go to school. You graduate. You sell snack cakes. You hang up your cape and put on a suit.

If happiness feels real, it almost doesn't matter if it's real or not.

It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.

I have no idea what time it is, what day it is. I have nothing but now. Nothing but here. And that is more than enough.

People are rarely as attractive in reality as they are in the eyes of the people who are in love with them

How much of my body is really me? My face is me, for sure. Anyone who looked at my face would know it was me. (...) But after that? If I showed myself a picture of myself from the shoulders down, would I be sure it was me? (...) I close my eyes and ask myself what my feet look like. I only kind of know. (...) I let it define me, but I can't even define it.

Saying the truth out loud makes it more real.

É isso que o amor faz: que você queira reescrever o mundo. Que você queira escolher os personagens, construir o cenário, dirigir o roteiro. A pessoa que você ama senta de frente para você, e você quer fazer tudo que estiver ao alcance para tornar isso possível, infinitamente possível. E quando são apenas vocês dois a sós numa sala, você pode fingir que é assim que as coisas são, que é assim que serão

The past and future are what's complicated. It's the present that's simple.

That's what makes it a good photograph. You think you know what's going on in her head. But the truth? No matter how good a photograph is, you can never tell what's going on in the person's mind.

The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed

Estou aprendendo que uma vida não é real até alguém mais conhecer sua realidade. E eu quero que minha vida seja real.

The story illustrates that although we are often unaware of God's presence or of the intricacies of His plan, He nevertheless is present and has a plan, and our ignorance of it doesn't make it any less real.

it is hard for many people to abandon the concept that human beings are angels imprisoned in earthly shells.

It's maybe impossible to escape (your own head), but I guess the secret is the prison cell just gets bigger and bigger and bigger and prettier and prettier and prettier.

My childhood was elegant homes, tree-lined streets, the milkman, building backyard forts, droning airplanes, blue skies, picket fences, green grass, cherry trees. Middle America as it's supposed to be. But on the cherry tree, there's this pitch oozing out – some black, some yellow – and millions of red ants crawling all over it. I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath.

Women marry believing that their husbands will change. Men marry believing that their wives will not change. They are both wrong.

The romantic fallacy occurs when we see ourselves through the lens of utopian visions of what we want people to be.

La falacia antinaturalista tiene lugar cuando nos contemplamos a través de las lentes de la visión utópica de cómo querríamos ser.

But there was also something swimming, an idea, a dream of what we were striving for and what it would look like when we got there. Then we got there, and it didn't look the same at all, somehow...Are all human beings malcontents?

The whole entire world. There is no law. There is no right and wrong. The world is lies. There is no friendship. Every fucking thing. Every God-forsaken thing.

Troy itself was disappointingly small. Like little more than your ordinary city block and a few stories in height, practically. Although now that I remember, everything in William Shakespeare's house at Stratford-on-Avon was astonishingly tiny, too. As if only imaginary people had lived there then. Or perhaps it is only the past itself, which is always smaller than one had believed.