Quotes About Surreal

From his vantage, three steps back and to the right, Tallow could see Rosato's eye a good five inches outside Rosato's head and still attached to his eye socket by a mess of red worms. In that single second, Tallow abstractedly realized that in his last moment of life, James Rosato could see his killer from two different angles.

It was like washing down a bucket of peyote with a vatful of absinthe.

And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all beneath you, all inside you, and you're floating.

Delirium is a disease of the night.

It's so dry the trees are bribing the dogs.

And then it was like he had been punched hard in the chest. He wasn't running anymore. He looked down. there was a silver bolt sticking out of him.no, that couldn't be. He couldn't have shot himself. He tried to augh, but it hurt to much. What was gong on? He had fallen. He was sitting down, his legs out in front of him. dead grown-ups lay all around him. Nothing moved. he couldn't breathe. His lungs were full of liquid. He looked up. The sky was flickering.

You can't press a button to make Phil Mitchell jump over a turtle and land on a cloud (unless you've recently ingested a load of military-grade hallucinogens, in which case you can also make him climb inside his own face and start whistling colours).

President Barack Obama. President Barack Obama. Nope, still can't get used to it. It's literally too good to be true. I must've died in my sleep and am now having an insane fantasy pumped into my head by the Matrix. Any minute now Salma Hayek is going to float through the door with a tray of biscuits and I'll know the game's up.

Surreal. It was his word of the week. "This must be one of the circles of hell Dante accidentally left off the list.

Gabe ran his hand through his hair and suppressed sending an entreaty to God. It wouldn't do any good. The motley crew before him could only have been sent by the devil himself. His long lost sister, a hippie vampire, an angry Italian cop, and a tattooed man with no last name. It was as if Central Casting had thrown up its hands and sent over whomever had walked in the door.

Water fell from the sky and dripped from the branches, streaming down the gully of the trail. I walked beneath the enormous trees, the forest canopy high above me, the bushes and low-growing plants that edged the trail soaking me as I brushed past. Wet and miserable as it was, the forest was magical—Gothic in its green grandiosity, both luminous and dark, so lavish in its fecundity that it looked surreal, as if I were walking through a fairy tale rather than the actual world.

For the INFJ, all of reality is surreal.

I have gone through the most terrible affair that could possibly happen; only imagine, my shadow has gone mad; I suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not bear much; he fancies that he has become a real man, and that I am his shadow.

You have nothing to lose but the chains of reality.

The television set then came after her, chomping its teeth.  Upon reaching the living room, the television succeeded at eating her body bit-by-bit: first the legs, then the body, and finally her flailing arms.

It seemed as though he would never pull free, until he awoke one morning feeling kind of awkward, as though his hands had been lopped off by some Arabian sword during a routine druggie blackout, and in their place, pale and membranous hands that had been fit to his wrists by aliens that took him up while he slept and then brought him back down – all of it in an effort to help him move up to where he belonged in society.

Because Picasso could no longer imitate, he innovated. Plath does the same in "Daddy," her surreal poem of rupture.

Bello como el encuentro fortruito de una máquina de coser y un paraguas en una mesa de disección.

I have dreamt that all my teeth fell out but my tongue lived to tell the tale

The religious cant that will send American troops into battle is perhaps the most sickening aspect of this surreal war-to-be. Bush has an arm-lock on God. And God has very particular political opinions. God appointed America to save the world in any way that suits America. God appointed Israel to be the nexus of America's Middle Eastern policy, and anyone who wants to mess with that idea is a) anti-Semitic, b) anti-American, c) with the enemy, and d) a terrorist.

For one timeless ghastly interval he thought he saw the fabric of the ship itself dissolving with him into a mist of discrete particles, he knew that he wasn't human anymore and nothing was real. And then plunged headlong into nothingness.

Yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye Crabalocker fishwife pornographic priestess Boy you been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down I am the eggman, they are the eggmen I am the walrus, goo goo goo joob

It just feels surreal. Every now and then it kind of hits me, but only for a short while, and then it carries on feeling like it didn't really happen, that he's going to walk in this evening and sit in front of the set drinking beer.

Holy Mary, mother of God, my mother said. You were being chased by Richard Nixon, Bill Clinton, and a rabbit.