Quotes About Surreal

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

Surreal fiction is a sophisticated art form. Events happen divorced from conventional logic, as events in a dream may happen. But unlike dreams, everything in the story contributes to an overall coherent point, impression or emotion.

Basically, I want the most unnatural look possible.

You have to be a little unreal to be in this business.

When I was discovered, everything happened like dominos. I don't know how to talk about it now because it's too mindblowing. It's so unreal, and yet it's real.

When you are ten years old and people are screaming your name, trying to grab you at the Kids Choice Awards, and you go to the mall and groups of girls start following you around, it's very unreal and like a dream. I can't say I get used to it, it's always been a little freaky.

There's something very surreal about driving a truck, looking in the rearview mirror, and seeing 20 cop cars behind you. Even though you know, 'We're just shooting. This is just a scene; we're making a movie here,' it's very unsettling.

I work with my dreams or nightmares.

It's a strange world, as David Lynch would say.

They were stuck in a traffic queue. There was nowhere they could go. They couldn't help but see the melting man.

The absurd itself is something very precise. It is the confrontation of our need for meaning with the unwillingness of the universe to yield it to us.

My mind is often half-sleeping, like in a daydream.

When you hear 'From the Other Side,' it's like being on an operating table. Suddenly, you're on the ceiling looking down at the doctors who are fighting for you. Are you gonna get a second chance or not?

But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

Además, olvida usted, señor Otis, que el precio que pagó incluía tanto el castillo como el fantasma...

Pulpos Oh pulpo, oh monje encarnizado la vibracion de tu atavio circula en la sal de la roca como un satanico desliz. Oh testimonio visceral, ramo de rayos congelados, cabeza de una monarquia de brazos y presentimientos: retrato del escalofrio, nube plural de lluvia negra.

The giant Grof was hit in one eye by a stone, and that eye turned inward so that it looked into his mind and he died of what he saw there.

There's nothing like getting trapped in a magical nightmare world to make you reexamine your priorities.

Metal teeth click shut in a steel vagina, missing his glans by a moist millimeter.

Blood and brain tissue clung to the wet rock like the refuse of a sad picnic.

Maybe I was just lucky, but I had the best pregnancy, and I loved giving birth. It was just the most amazing thing, so surreal but so real.

And I did not think that Darl would, that sits at the supper table with his eyes gone further than the food and the lamp, full of the land dug out of his skull and the holes filled with distance beyond the land.

Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It's covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, Laney, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.

Case gasped as his internal organs were pulled into a different configuration.