Quotes About Reality

perfect software doesn't exist. No one in the brief history of computing has ever written a piece of perfect software.

In war-as-spectacle, appearances could be more important than reality, because appearance often ended up determining reality.

Of God are ye in Christ. It is not as if God placed and planted us in Christ, and left it to us now to maintain the union. No, God is the Eternal One, the God of the everlasting life, who works every moment in a power that does not for one moment cease. What God gives, He continues with a never-ceasing giving. It is He who by the Holy Spirit makes this life in Christ a blessed reality in our consciousness.

This is my commandment, the Saviour says, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. He sometimes spoke of commandments, but the love, which is the fulfilling of the law, is the all-including one, and therefore is called His commandment--the new commandment. It is to be the great evidence of the reality of the New Covenant, of the power of the new life revealed in Jesus Christ.

He will make His holy promise an actual reality in our conscious experience: "Lo, I am with you alway[s]" (Matt. 28:20). Let us see to it that our faith in His blessed Word, in His divine power, and in His holy abiding presence, is the one thing that masters our whole beings. Then Christ will indeed manifest Himself, abide with us, and dwell in our hearts as His home.

It is a traveler's fallacy that one should shop for clothing while abroad. Those white linen tunics, so elegant in Greece, emerge from the suitcase as mere hippie rags; the beautiful striped shirts of Rome are confined to the closet; and the delicate hand batiks of Bali are first cruise wear, then curtains, then signs of impending madness.

We think we know people, and dismiss the scenes as aberrations, as the lightning strikes of madness, but surely we are wrong. Surely these are the truest moments of their lives.

And yet what she has said--the lying brain--this is familiar; this has happened to him. Not exactly like this, not utter terrifying madness, but he knows his brain has told him things he has traveled around the world to forget. That the mind cannot be trusted is a certainty.

meaning his stuffed bear who was as real to him as his mother or me. Or else as imaginary.

He thinks each day will be better than the next; he is wrong. He awakens the next morning and thinks it again; he is wrong. He thinks we are free to become our true selves, that we are free to love as we choose. A mindset so UnitedStatesian, you could serve it with ketchup. But, friends, you cannot live on ketchup.

What do you call a guy who you're sleeping with --Let's say you do that for nine years, you make breakfast and have birthday parties and arguments and wear what he tells you to wear, for nine years, and you're nice to his friends, and he's always at your place, but you know all the time it can't go anywhere, he's going to find someone, it won't be you, that's agreed on from the start, he's going to find someone and marry him -- what do you call that guy?

It is a traveler's fallacy that one should shop for clothing while abroad. Those white linen tunics, so elegant in Greece, emerge from the suitcase as mere hippie rags; the beautiful striped shirts of Rome are confined to the closet; and the delicate hand batiks of Bali are first cruise wear, then curtains, then signs of impending madness. And then there is Paris.

Who can ever say, this is the last? Only one is true, but all of them feel true, and the tears we shed are equal every time.

And then, inevitably, one day—it's gone. And we realize that we thought we were the only changing thing, the only variable, in the world; that the objects and people in our lives are there for our pleasure, like the playing pieces of a game, and cannot move of their own accord; that they are held in place by our need for them, by our love. How stupid.

Like a landmark, a pyramid-shaped stone or a cypress, that we assume will never move. So we can find our way home. And then, inevitably, one day—it's gone. And we realize that we thought we were the only changing thing, the only variable, in the world; that the objects and people in our lives are there for our pleasure, like the playing pieces of a game, and cannot move of their own accord; that they are held in place by our need for them, by our love. How stupid

For is my story really so unusual? To wake each morning as if things had gone differently -- the dead come back, the lost returned, the beloved in our arms -- is it really any more magic than the ordinary madness of hope?

Just for the record, happiness is not bullshit. - Arthur Less (character)

Why did he always assume Mexico City would be like Phoenix on a smoggy day? Why did no one tell him it would be Madrid

The brain is so wrong, all the time she says, turning to the dark landscape again. Wrong about what time it is, and who people are, and where home is: wrong wrong wrong. The lying brain.

But it is a rule of life, alas, that nobody is kidding.

the truth of existence has not quite pierced his soul: That in real life, there are no protagonists. Or, rather, the reverse: It's nothing but protagonists. It's protagonists all the way down.

real life, there are no protagonists. Or, rather, the reverse: It's nothing but protagonists. It's protagonists all the way down.

It's easy to say something is all in your head. It's like saying a sunset is all in your eyes," she said, gesturing, pursing her mouth in small furies. "It's stupid, it's nonsense. It has no brain for beauty.

Things are going so well today that it feels not impossible it is the Nobel Committee. But, friends, it is not the Nobel Committee. It is a rule of life, alas, that it is never the Nobel Committee.