Quotes About Reality

For a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven.

Real life was curious enough without the embellishments of fiction.

One lies in truth, One's truth is lies. One path is death, One path is life. One question asked, The path to guide.

Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world.

This world was not like the world of his stories.

A great book that claimed that the end of the world, based on a close examination of the Bible, would occur in 1783, had largely retreated into madness, refusing to believe that the present date was any later than 1782, for to do so would be to admit that its contents were wrong and that its existence therefore had no purpose beyond that of a mere curiosity.

Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today, I wish, I wish he'd go away . . . —

His old identity has been discarded, and his new identity is to be found only on the screen. In the expanse between these two poles lies the reality of the self.

God, they were only children when they went off to fight, virgins, and virgin children had no call to be holding guns and firing them at other children. When he looked at his grandchildren, and saw how cosseted and naïve they were despite the air of knowingness that they maintained, he found it impossible to visualize them as he had once been.

He had counted so carefully. He had abided by the rules, but life had cheated. This world was not like the world of his stories.

through life in his vibrant plumage, advertising his presence, hiding nothing, but when he closed his front door behind him the artificial light in his eyes was suffocated, and the face of the Gray Man was pendent like a dead moon in the blackness of his pupils.

Lenda é uma coisa, realidade é outra. Aquela, nós contamos; esta escondemos. Criamos monstros na esperança de que as lições contidas nas histórias nos sirvam de guia quando nos deparamos com o que há de mais terrível na vida. Inventamos nomes para nossos medos e rezamos para não encontrar nada pior do que aquilo que nós mesmos criamos.

In the end, the truth doesn't matter.

Story!" The dwarf snorted. "You'll be talking about "happily ever after" next. Do we look happy? There's no happily ever after for us. Miserabily ever after, more like.

They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves.

even if she saw a ghost, she still wouldn't believe it.

These stories were very old, as old as people, and they had survived because they were very powerful indeed. These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside. They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves.

If the 'I' is understood strictly as we have been taking it, then it is quite certain that knowledge of it does not depend on things of whose existence I am as yet unaware; so it cannot 28depend on any of the things which I invent in my imagination.

The world is not made of bread and honey…nor of the sweet flesh of girls. This world is made of clouds and of the shadows of clouds. It is made of mental landscapes, porous as air, where men and women are as trees walking, and as reeds shaken by the wind.

Having spent years in healing ministry, I've seen the whole machine become obsessed with looking for roots and causes to the problems of sickness, rather than resting in the simple reality that by His stripes we are already healed. The Gospel is always the antidote. Let's start with the answer, not the problem. It is the higher reality to which we continually appeal, even when circumstances fly seemingly opposite.

Seen from inside the bar, the avenue, the stores opposite, the street glimpsed going off at right angles, the trapezoid of sky visible above the lower buildings, are altered by the tinted windows into an elsewhere, oddly peaceful, a desert or the interior of the sea. Sometimes when he has fallen asleep face upward in the sun, his dreams have taken on this quality of supernatural bright darkness. ("Novelty")

And yet, though we wake, though there is no end to waking and saying Oh I see, not ever [...], still within the dream in which we find ourselves every other dream is nested, every one we have awakened from.

Houses made of houses within houses made of time.

they slipped one by one again into the merely fictional – Hermes's false Egypt, and Bruno's false Hermes; Kraft's false Bruno; Pierce's false history of the world, the doors that had once blown open blowing closed again one by one down the corridor into the colored centuries.