Quotes About Reality

Deixa que um momento pense Que ainda vives ao meu lado... Triste de quem por si mesmo Precisa ser enganado!

I do not even know whether I am the one living it or if my life is living me (if we allow that empty word 'live' to mean whatever it wants to), and I should not really swear to anything at all.

But I also see that in order to flee from all this I must either master it or repudiate it. I do not master it because I cannot rise above reality and I do not repudiate it because, whatever I may dream, I always remain exactly where I am.

Only what we dream is what we truly are, because all the rest, all that has been realized, belongs to the world and to everyone.

That episode of the imagination we call reality

To be adept at deluding oneself is the first prerequisite for a statesman. Only poets and philosophers see the world as it really is, for only to them is it given to live without illusions. To see clearly is to not act.

our pain is only grave and serious when we pretend it is.

nothing is what it is, but dreams are always dreams.)

No sé si es a mí a quien le sucede, si a todos los que la civilización hizo nacer por segunda vez. Pero me parece que para mí, o para los que sienten como yo, lo artificial ha pasado a ser lo natural, y es lo natural lo que es extraño. No digo bien: lo artificial no ha pasado a ser lo natural; lo natural ha pasado a ser lo diferente

Who knows for what supreme forces – gods or demons of Truth in whose shadow we roam – I may be nothing but a shiny fly that alights in front of them for a moment or two? A facile hypothesis? Trite observation? Philosophy with no real thought? Maybe. But I didn't think: I felt. It was carnally, directly, with profound and dark horror that I made this ludicrous comparison.

Life for us is whatever we imagine it to be. To the peasant with his one field, that field is everything, it is an empire. To Caesar with his vast empire which still feels cramped, that empire is a field. The poor man has an empire; the great man only a field. The truth is that we possess nothing but our own sensations; it is on them, then, and not what they perceive, that we must base the reality of our life. But all of this is apropos of nothing.

Ik had een zeker talent voor vriendschap, maar ik heb nooit vrienden gehad, ofwel omdat ze er niet waren, ofwel omdat de vriendschap die mij voor ogen stond een fout van mijn dromen was.

If only the day and happiness would never come! If only hopes could at least not suffer the disappointment of coming true!

We worship perfection, because we cannot have it; and we would loathe it if we did. Perfection is inhuman, because to be human is to be imperfect.

life real. As all of us know, even when we don't know what we're doing, life is absolutely unreal in its directly real form; the country, the city and our ideas are all absolutely fictitious things, the offspring of our complex sensation of our own selves. Impressions are incommunicable unless we make them literary.

To externalize impressions is more a way of persuading ourselves that we have them rather than actually having them.

I don't know why, but I'm troubled by this objective network of wide and narrow streets, this succession of street lamps, trees, lighted and dark windows, opened and closed gates – heterogeneously nocturnal shapes which my near-sightedness makes even hazier, until they become subjectively monstrous, unintelligible and unreal.

Their way of dreaming is a garment that conceals, not a dream that creates.

Te estoy esperando, como distracción, en nuestro cuarto de dos puertas y te sueño llegando a mi sueño y en mi sueño entras hasta mí por la puerta de la derecha; si al entrar lo hicieras por la puerta de la izquierda, habría ya un contraste entre mi sueño y tú.

Some metaphors are more real than the people you see walking down the street.

Cum se face c?,spre deosebire de alÅ£ii, Imediat ce dispari,nu-mi mai e dor de tine? C?ci atunci când nu te v?d,încetezi s? exiÅŸti. Iar dac? Å£i-e dor de ceva ce nu exist?, SimÅ£i acest lucru pentru nimic.

Ä°nsan sürekli olarak soyutluÄŸun içinde yaÅŸay?nca –ister düÅŸüncenin, ister düÅŸünülmüÅŸ duygunun soyutluÄŸu olsun– çok geçmeden, hissettiÄŸinin ya da istediÄŸinin aksine, doÄŸam?z gereÄŸi en kolay alg?layabileceÄŸimiz gerçek hayata ait ÅŸeylerin bile hayalete dönüÅŸtüÄŸünü görüyor.

Mas as paisagens sonhadas são apenas fumos de paisagens conhecidas e o tédio de as sonhar também é quase tão grande como o tédio de olharmos para o mundo.

I'm nothing. I'll always be nothing. I can't want to be something. But I have in me all the dreams of the world.