Quotes About Perception

A realidade é aquilo que não desaparece, quando se deixa de crer nisso.

The universe is information and we are stationary in it, not three-dimensional and not space time. The information fed to us we hypostatize into the phenomenal world.

In comparison to my life in the inter-connected dreams, this life is lonely and phony and worthless; unfit for an intelligent and educated person.

Strano come un delirio persecutorio riesca di tanto in tanto a incontrare, per quanto brevemente, la realtà.

Emily Dickinson was full of shit when she prattled about "kindly Death"; that's an abominable thought, that death is kind. She never saw a six-car pile-up on the Eastshore Freeway.

Possibly his experience with the bounty hunter Phil Resch had altered some minute synapsis in him, had closed one neurological switch and opened another. And this perhaps had started a chain reaction.

The tyranny of an object, he thought. It doesn't know I exist. Like the androids, it had no ability to appreciate the existence of another.

He wondered, then, if the others who had remained on Earth experienced the void this way. Or was it peculiar to his peculiar biological identity, a freak generated by his inept sensory apparatus? Interesting question, Isidore thought. But whom could he compare notes with?

Hay muchos libros vivos. No de un modo metafórico.

You will manually feel this object with your left hand," he said to himself, "and at the same time you will look at it with your right. And then in your own words you will tell us—" He could not think out any more nonsense. Not without their help.

I've read the Cosmic Trigger and Robert Anton Wilson says

What he did not know then is that it is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane. To listen to Gloria rationally ask to die was to inhale the contagion. It was a Chinese finger trap, where the harder you pull to get out, the tighter the trap gets.

I seem to be living in my own novels more and more. I can't figure out why. Am I losing touch with reality? Or is reality actually sliding toward a Phil Dickian type of atmosphere? And if the latter, then for god's sake why? Am I responsible? How could I be responsible? Isn't that solipsism? It's too much for me.

No perderemos realmente lo que sentimos, si lo tenemos claramente en el espíritu.

However, I do think one could say this; rather than having it read: Ubik, by Philip K. Dick, one could put it this way: PHILIP K. DICK By Ubik In a sense I am joking, of course, but in a sense I am not.

She scrutinized him with a mixture of pleasure and pity; or so he read her expression.

Everything's the same, when you break through to absolute reality; it's all one vast blur.

Van Vogt's The World of Null-A—there was something about that which absolutely fascinated me.

verisimilitude.

Mercerism is a swindle.' The whole experience of empathy is a swindle.

God, what a dreadful thing - the truth.

It is the human phosphene response to full-spectrum white, to pure sunlight.

The hallmark of the fraudulent is that it becomes what you would like it to be.

One of God's greatest mercies is that he keeps us perpetually occluded.