Quotes About Surreal

There is no gravity in the Planet of Love; everything floats in the air.

Did all that really just happen or have I wandered into some kind of Dada exhibition?

At a minimum the name should puzzle foreigners—this is a basic requirement of most British institutions—and ideally it should excite long and inconclusive debate, defy all logical explanation, and evoke images that border on the surreal. Among

HOBBES: If you don't get a goodnight kiss you get Kafka dreams.

her skirt it swayed as the guitar played her mouth it was watery and yet ...

While we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another one.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. [I think I made you up inside my head.]

At about this point I began to feel peculiar. I looked round me at all the rows of rapt little heads with the same silver glow on them at the front and the same black shadow on them at the back, and they looked like nothing more or less than a lot of stupid moon-brains. I felt in terrible danger of puking. I didn't know whether it was the awful movie giving me a stomach-ache or all that caviar I had eaten.

Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up.

They are good evidence to prove that poems which seem often to be constructed of arbitrary surreal symbols are really impassioned reorganizations of relevant fact.

This is not what I meant: Stucco arches, the banked rocks sunning in rows, Bald eyes or petrified eggs, Grownups coffined in stockings and jackets, Lard-pale, sipping the thin Air like a medicine.

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table;

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom

the evening lay out against the sky Like a patient, etherised on a table

Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so. Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so.

Kind of like I suspect things are at night in the It's A Small World ride, when all the little figures come to life and whisper about how they'd like to torture and murder all those screaming children and grinning grown-ups in the boats.

Startled people look up With sheeps' heads Then go on eating.

De cuando en cuando me ocurre vomitar un conejito.

Once in a while it happens that I vomit up a bunny.

como casi siempre, cerrar los ojos y volverse atrás, al mundo algodonoso de cualquier otra noche escogida atentamente de entre la baraja abierta.

Think of this: when they present you with a watch, they are gifting you with a tiny flowering hell, a wreath of roses, a dungeon of air.

Cuando me cuenta de que estaba vestido de blanco en pleno invierno me pregunté si soñaba. Esto no es un modo de decir, cuando veo algo raro siempre me pregunto con todas las letras si estoy soñando.

Qué mamúa padre. The Doors of Perception, by Aldley Huxdous. Get yourself a tiny bit of mescalina, brother, the rest is bliss and diarrhoea.