Quotes About Reality

Maybe that was why I wanted to slap so many of the zombies; they had no idea how freaking lucky they were. Lucky and ignorant, happy little rich kids who believed in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and thought that life was supposed to be fair.

I feel like any minute a guy in a lavender suit will burst into the room with a microphone and bellow, Another alternate-reality moment brought to you by Adolescence!

Mother and Father apologize. They sing a show tune: 'What are we to do? What are we to do? She's so blue, we're just two. What, oh what, are we supposed to do?' In my headworld they jump on Principal Principal's desk and perform a tap-dance routine. A spotlight flashes on them. A chorus line joins in, and the guidance counselor dances around a spangled cane. I giggle. Zap. Back in their world.

That's such bullshit, Mythology repeated by parents because it lets them force their kids into sports and push them too hard by pretending that in the end it will pay off with the holy scholarship. You know how many kids get a free ride? Hardly any. Like, maybe fourteen.' -Finn (165)

HOW CHEQUERED IS HUMAN LIFE! HOW PRECARIOUS IS HAPPINESS! HOW EASILY DO WE OFTEN PART WITH IT FOR A SHADOW! THESE ARE THE REFLECTIONS THAT FREQUENTLY INTRUDE THEMSELVES UPON ME, WITH A PAINFUL APPLICATION. I AM GOING TO DO MY DUTY. –LETTER FROM COLONEL ALEXANDER HAMILTON TO HIS WIFE, ELIZABETH

IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting it. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding.

You are basically a flophouse and a pimp away from Pepcid rehab, you know that? I informed Nana.

Once I had been jerked back to reality, like I was in a log on Splash Mountain and someone quickly applied the brakes, I knew this had been a terrible choice, but I was in it now. There was no getting out; there was no abandoning the mission.

Now, I'm sure you are thinking, were they really children, or were they adults who hadn't eaten protein or calcium in so many years that their bone structure was actually in an advanced state of atrophy and they appeared much smaller than people who eat food?

Madam, there is no treachery in the truth. There may be pain, but to face honestly all possible conclusions formed by a set of facts is the noblest route possible for a human being.

any departure from reality that could easily be avoided ought to be avoided.

They are properly described as works of fiction, with the understanding that fiction does not imply lack of truth so much as a willingness to refashion factuality in the service of drama, and perhaps in search of a higher truth.

That's not fair! That's a cry that rings out over the years on every school playground, because if there's one thing every child seems to be born knowing, it's that life is supposed to be fair. And, if there's one lesson he learns sooner or later, it's that it's not.

The world's a bastard. Life just happens to people.

Art—the meaning of the pattern of our common actions in reality. The cloth-of-gold that hides behind the sackcloth of reality, forced out by the pain of human memory.

To be the equal of reality you must learn how to ignore it without danger.

Balthazar sighed and said Truth naked and unashamed. That's a splendid phrase. But we always see her as she seems, never as she is. Each man has his own interpretation.

We should tackle reality in a slightly jokey way, otherwise we miss its point.

Any concentration of the will displaces life and gives it bias in motion. Reality, he believed, was always trying to copy the imagination of man, from which it derived.

There is nothing stranger than to love somebody who is mad, or who is intermittently so. The weight, the strain, the anxiety is a heavy load to bear – if only because among these confusional states and hysterias loom dreadful probabilities like suicide or murder. It shakes one's hold also on one's own grasp of reality; one realises how precariously we manage

Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.

Let us go to bed together and ignore the loutish reality of the world.

But then is not life itself a fairy-tale which we lose the power of apprehending as we grow? No matter.

only there, in the silences of the painter or the writer can reality be reordered, reworked and made to show its significant side.