Quotes About Reality

With slight misconceptions of reality we fabricate our hopes and beliefs, and we live off crusts that we call cakes, like poor children who make-believe they're happy.

The search for the truth — whether the subjective truth of one's own convictions, the objective truth of reality or the social truth of money or power — always brings with it, if the searcher in question deserves the prize, the ultimate knowledge that the truth does not exist.

Todo se me evapora. Mi vida entera, mis recuerdos, mi imaginación y lo que contiene, mi personalidad, todo se me evapora. Continuamente siento que he sido otro, que he sentido otro, que he pensado otro. Aquello a lo que asisto es un espectáculo con otro escenario. Y aquello a lo que asisto soy yo

Só o que sonhamos é o que verdadeiramente somos, porque o mais, por estar realizado, pertenece ao mundo e a toda a gente

I've never aspired to be more than a dreamer. I paid no attention to those who spoke to me of living. I've always belonged to what isn't where I am and to what I could never be. Whatever isn't mine, no matter how base, has always had poetry for me.

And in the depths of my soul — the only reality of the moment — there is an intense, invisible pain, a sadness like the sound of someone weeping in a dark room.

I have all the conditions for happiness, save happiness. The conditions are detached from one another.

Os poetas místicos são filósofos doentes,  E os filósofos são homens doidos.

There are dreamed anguishes that are more real Than the ones life brings us, there are sensations Felt only by imagining Which are more ours than our own life is. There's so often a thing which, not existing, Does exist, exists lingeringly And lingeringly is ours and us…

But everything is absurd, and dreaming least of all.

But our superiority is not the kind that many dreamers have imagined we have. The dreamer isn't superior to the active man because dreaming is superior to reality. The dreamer's superiority is due to the fact that dreaming is much more practical than living, and the dreamer gets far greater and more varied pleasure out of life than the man of action. In other and plainer words, the dreamer is the true man of action.

Life is what we conceive it to be. For the farmer who considers his field to be everything, the field is an empire. For a Caesar whose empire is still not enough, the empire is a field. The poor man who possesses an empire, the great man a field. All that we truly possess are our own sensations; it is in them, rather than in what they sense, that we must base our life's reality. This has nothing to do with anything.

And when the lie begins to give us pleasure, let us speak the truth in order to lie to the lie.

Art frees us, through illusion, from the squalor of being.

Porque o único sentido oculto das cousas  É elas não terem sentido oculto

Passa uma borboleta por diante de mim E pela primeira vez no Universo eu reparo Que as borboletas não têm cor nem movimento, Assim como as flores não têm perfume nem cor. A cor é que tem cor nas asas da borboleta, No movimento da borboleta o movimento é que se move, O perfume é que tem perfume no perfume da flor. A borboleta é apenas borboleta E a flor é apenas flor.

Life would be unbearable if we made ourselves conscious of it.

O inexplicável horror De saber que esta vida é verdadeira, Que é uma coisa real, que é [como um] ser Em todo o seu mistério [...] Realmente real.

Cada pessoa é apenas o sonho de si próprio. Eu nem isso sou.

Recognizing that reality is a kind of illusion, and that illusion is a kind of reality, is simultaneously necessary and pointless.

I am the interval between what I am and what I am not, between what I dream and what life has made of me, the abstract, carnal halfway house between things, like myself, that are nothing.

I live always in the present. I know nothing of the future and no longer have a past. The former weighs me down with a thousand possibilities, the latter with the reality of nothingness.

We all live far away and anonymous; disguised, we suffer as unknowns. For some, however, this distance between oneself and one's self is never revealed; for others it is occasionally enlightened, to their horror or grief, by a flash without limits; but for still others this is the painful daily reality of life.

metaphysics has always struck me as a prolonged form of latent insanity.