Quotes About Reality

Black Jack. A common name for rogues and scoundrels in the eighteenth century. A staple of romantic fiction, the name conjured up charming highwaymen, dashing blades in plumed hats. The reality waled at my side.

Not the historians. No, not them. Their greatest crime is that they presume to know what happened, how things come about, when they have only what the past chose to leave behind—for the most part, they think what they were meant to think, and it's a rare one that sees what really happened, behind the smokescreen of artifacts and paper.

You're real," he whispered. I had thought him pale already. Now all vestiges of color drained from his face.

Feelings aren't truth

Cows? he asked, Was it really cows, or was I dreaming?

Jamie was real, alright, more real than anything had ever been to me, even Frank and my life in 1945. Jamie, tender lover and perfidious blackguard.

Feelings aren't truth.

There is a great difference between those phenomena which are accepted on faith, and those which are proved by objective determination, though the cause of both may be equally 'rational' once known. And the chief difference is this: that people will treat with disdain such phenomena as are proved by the evidence of the senses, and commonly experienced—while they will defend to the death the reality of a phenomenon which they have neither seen nor experienced.

If ever you find yourself in the midst of paradox, you can be sure you stand on the edge of truth," his adoptive father had told him once. "You may not know what it is, mind," he'd added with a smile. "But it's there.

people will treat with disdain such phenomena as are proved by the evidence of the senses, and commonly experienced—while they will defend to the death the reality of a phenomenon which they have neither seen nor experienced.

It's always better if they see. Then they don't imagine things. So I didn't imagine, I remembered.

The most irritating thing about clichés, I decided, was how frequently they were true.

of spit-up milk, soft feces, and the ultimate

more than he did himself. But he said, no, I must have it, that knowing what o'clock it is gives ye the illusion that ye have some control over your circumstances.

all, is it not? But

Tu es belle, me murmura-t-il. - Si tu le dis... - Tu ne me crois pas ? T'ai-je déjà menti ? - Ce n'est pas ça. Je voulais dire que, à partir du moment où tu le dis, ça devient vrai.C'est ton regard qui me rend belle.

can tell you that nobody knows what being married's going to be like until you find yourself in the midst of it.

I feel like that all the time, Sassenach, he said, his voice a little husky. His fingers curled over mine. When I wake sometimes in the early morning, and I see ye there beside me. I doubt you're real. Until I touch ye-or until ye fart.

knowing what o'clock it is gives ye the illusion that ye have some control over your circumstances.

Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect

remembering so acutely Jamie's flesh and weight and ardor, and so urgently wanted him to be Jamie that I had succeeded for an instant in thinking that he was, only to be crushed like a grape at the realization that he wasn't, all my soft insides spurting out. Had he felt or thought the same things, waking to find me there beside him?

She turned another page. "If everyone can do it, it's science. If only a few can, then it's witchcraft, or superstition, or whatever you like to call it," she said. "But it's real." She looked up at me, green eyes bright as a snake's over the crumbling book. "We're real, Claire—you and me. And special. Have ye never asked yourself why?" I

people will treat with disdain such phenomena as are proved by the evidence of the senses, and commonly experienced—while they will defend to the death the reality of a phenomenon which they have neither seen nor experienced. "Faith is as powerful a force as science," he concluded, voice soft in the darkness, "—but far more dangerous.

When you write it down…" he said. "Does that make it—whatever it is—real again? Or does the act of putting it into words make it unreal? You know, something…separate from yourself.