Quotes About Real

That was the man's real trouble, not the savage and uncanny civilizations he encountered--he kept forgetting what he had.

If one accepted magic, curses, even fate, could one be sure one's feelings were real and not influenced by unseen forces. ~ Oliver Leighton, Earl of Norcroft

So conscience is essentially intuitive. To anticipate what is not yet, but is to be made real, conscience must be based on intuition. And it is in this sense that conscience may be called irrational.

I clearly understand, first, that the real human being is a poet and, second, that [the tyrant] is the incarnate negation of a poet.

Mas o amor, dizia ele, era tudo menos credível, a vida real era ridícula, os labregos riam-se do amor.

What is the real game? It is a game in which the heart is entertained, the game in which you are entertained. It is the game you will win. - Maharaji

I'm in love with you Renata. I know I'm not a poet – shit, not even close. I don't have all the fancy words I wish I could say to you … but I want you to know that what I'm feeling for you is real. I love you.

I'm sure it is, I'm not for any kind of war, we've been engaged in several wars since the second world war and we lost in Korea, we lost in Vietnam, they are political wars, they have nothing to do with any real threat, nor does this one.

Let out of his stall with the two men standing by, Seabiscuit head-butted Howard. Smith made his case in four sentences: "Get me that horse. He has real stuff in him. I can improve him. I'm positive

The way I see it, nothing in life is a rehearsal. It's not preparation for anything else. There's no getting ready for it. There's no waiting for the real part to begin. Not ever.

Under cover of his official title, Mendoza pursued his real job, that of spy.

This is Gnosis: the casting off of all that is inauthentic and entering in all your nakedness into the waters of the Real Authenticity.

It is important to note that the imitation of Yaldabaoth's Earth is a thought in his mind. Yaldabaoth's Earth is not real. The point for the reader to remember is that when a person feels an thinks that the world, in which he or she is living, is a horrible and loveless place, he or she has entered Yaldabaoth's mind.

So many people will debate and argue about the nature of God, but all the philosophy books in the world are no substitute for genuine personal experience with the Real. The Real is the Radiance of Your Existence and the Expression of Everything. For Allah emanates through all Creation in Divine Resplendence and with Divine Grace.

When Allah manifests Itself to us as the Real, or the Cosmos, we perceive the Divine Names. The Names, due to their distinction from one another (although they all proceed from the same Essence), generate duality. The Names are the self-disclosure of the Essence. However, in knowing Allah as Essence, the dervish crosses over to Unity.

Once the stage of psychological disintegration is reached, death is often not far away," John Leach writes in Survival Psychology. "[T]he ability people possess to die gently, and often suddenly, through no organic cause, is a very real one.

Ah! poetry makes life what light and music do the stage—strip the one of the false embellishments, and the other of its illusions, and what is there real in either to live or care for?

It is remarkable that what we call the world, which is so very credulous in what professes to be true, is most incredulous in what professes to be imaginary; and that, while, every day in real life, it will allow in one man no blemishes, and in another no virtues, it will seldom admit a very strongly-marked character, either good or bad, in a fictitious narrative, to be within the limits of probability.

So, then, in general metaphysical terms, our expression is that, like a purgatory, all that is commonly called "existence," which we call Intermediateness, is quasi-existence, neither real nor unreal, but expression of attempt to become real, or to generate for or recruit a real existence.

I still weave dreams, finding inspiration wherever I can and looking for romance in the real, not the digital, world

Kate as she was at home without varnish or furbelows.

He let himself surrender for a moment to a visceral sense of identity which drowned out all his pale mental images of optical processors, all his abstract reflections on the software's approximations and short-cuts. This body didn't want to evaporate. This body didn't want to bail out. It didn't much care that there was another – "more real" – version of itself, elsewhere. It wanted to retain its wholeness. It wanted to endure.

The irony is that you can't use real rain to make movies.

Bad fiction uses the glossy generality; good writing needs the smattering of detail, the unrelenting busy mystery of the real.