Quotes About Illusion

Nothing is ever solved, Solving is an illusion. There are moments of spontaneous brightness, when the mind appears emancipated, but this is more epiphany.

Closure is an illusion, the winking of the eye of a storm. Nothing is completely resolved in life, nothing is perfect. The important thing is to keep living because only by living can you see what happens next." - on Murakami's 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage' in The New York Times

Some dreams aren't dreams at all, just another angle of physical reality.

Americans just don't know what being a movie star's all about.

That's the one with the magic, he would say.

No moon or stars, real or imagined.

We sometimes eclipse our own dreams with reality (p.43)

We go on dates thinking that person is our future husband or wife, without getting to know them, as we live in a fantasy and an illusion of romance.

When a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear. For as long as the story goes on, reality no longer exists.

I've been trying to fit everything in, trying to get to the end before it's too late, but I see now how badly I've deceived myself. Words do not allow such things. The closer you come to the end, the more there is to say. The end is only imaginary, a destination you invent to keep yourself going, but a point comes when you realize you will never get there. You might have to stop, but that is only because you have run out of time. You stop, but that does not mean you have come to an end.

It often happens that things are other than what they seem, and you can get yourself into trouble by jumping to conclusions.

An unreal world was much bigger than a real world, and there was more than enough room in it to be yourself and not yourself at the same time.

The world wasn't real anymore. Everything in it was a fraudulent copy of what it should have been, and everything that happened in it shouldn't have been happening. For a long time afterward, Ferguson lived under the spell of this illusion, sleepwalking through his days and struggling to fall asleep at night, sick of a world he had stopped believing in, doubting everything that presented itself to his eyes.

There was nothing to see, nothing to distract me from succumbing to my fears, and the longer I kept my eyes shut, the more terribly I saw my fears wanted me to see.

No one wants to be part of a fiction, and even less so if that fiction is real.

What people saw when he appeared before them, then, was not really him, but a person he had invented, an artificial creature he could manipulate in order to manipulate others. He himself remained invisible, a puppeteer working the strings of his alter-ego from a dark, solitary place behind the curtain

The whole scene had an imaginary quality to it. I knew that it was real, but at the same time it was better than reality, more nearly a projection of what I wanted from reality than anything I had experienced before.

We are not where we are . . . but in a false position. Through an infirmity of our natures, we suppose a case, and put ourselves into it, and hence are in two cases at the same time, and it is doubly difficult to get out.

The great spectacle of human crookedness. It keeps coming at you from all sides, and whether you like it or not, it's the most interesting show in town.

As long as we avoided the real subject, the spell could not be broken. We both slipped naturally into this kind of banter, and it became all the more powerful because neither of us abandoned the charade. We knew what we were doing, but at the same time we pretended not to.

Entrances do not become exits, and there is nothing to guarantee that the door you walked through a moment ago will still be there when you turn around to look for it again.

But even the facts do not always tell the truth.

Chicas medio locas, ambas deslumbrantes y autodestructivas, profundamente excitantes para ti, pero apenas llegabas a entenderlas. Las inventabas. Las utilizabas como ficticias encarnaciones de tus propios deseos, dejando de lado sus problemas e historias personales, sin comprender quiénes eran al margen de tu propia imaginación, y sin embargo, cuanto más te eludían, más apasionadamente las deseabas.

Tout cela devient assez compliqué, je m'en doute, mais en réalité le personnage de Brill ne faisait pas, à l'origine, partie de mon plan. Le cerveau créateur de la guerre devait appartenir à quelqu'un d'autre, un autre personnage inventé, aussi peu réel que Brick et Flora, Tobak et tout le reste, mais plus j'avançais, mieux je comprenais à quel point je me bernais moi-même.