Quotes About Illusion

By poeticizing love, we imagine in those we love virtues that they often do not possess; this then becomes the source of constant mistakes and constant distress.

Ordinary hypocrites pretend to be doves; political and literary hypocrites pretend to be eagles. But don't be disconcerted by their aquiline appearance. They are not eagles, but rats or dogs.

It lies in humanity's infinite capacity for self-deception where some perceived (and in this case long-desired) advantage is at stake

In this way we will be reminded of their true nature and come to a more 'objective' judgement. It is, Marcus says, like: 'seeing roasted meat and other dishes in front of you and suddenly realizing: This is a dead fish. A dead bird. A dead pig. Or that this noble vintage is grape juice, and the purple robes are sheep wool dyed with shellfish blood. Or making love – something rubbing against your penis, a brief seizure and a little cloudy liquid.

Mistaken about good and bad, unwittingly taken in by things that are ultimately harmful for us, we suffer from something akin to a perceptual illusion, only much deeper and more problematic. It's like the Müller-Lyer illusion: we can't help experiencing the lines as of different length, even if we know they're not.

They're the ones inside a soap bubble. Not me.

You don't understand at all. It doesn't matter what's true and what's a fairy tale. That's not what matters. The dividing lines aren't as straight and simple as you think. - Raka

Madame Bovary, c'est moi. Emma Bovary. She was the first. The first to thrash around in the space between a packaged wonder and reality, trying to reconcile the two in her enormous, inarticulate heart. Madame Bovary, c'est toi, perhaps, dear reader. Madame Bovary, c'est tout le monde.

Alegremente" es la palabra de la casa. Estáis envenenados de alegría. Y no era eso lo que pensaba yo encontrar aquí. Creí que encontraría... a mis verdaderos compañeros, no a unos ilusos».

The sun burned white, conjugating its colorlessness, it's fixed, blazing surface, against sand so blank that it induced visions.

The trick is that you have to believe the lie and believe it so much that the lie becomes the truth.

The appearance of normality was in and of itself a poor antidote to disaster.

Without this ridiculous vanity that takes the form of self-display, and is part of everything and everyone, we would see nothing, and nothing would exist.

Man, when he is merely what he seems to be, is almost nothing.

He who does not fill his world with phantoms remains alone.

Tu crees que me matas. Yo creo que te suicidas.

Han dejado de engañarte, no de quererte. Y te parece que han dejado de quererte.

Many things, In order to assure me their lack of existence; become mine

Donde hemos puesto algo, siempre creemos que hay algo, aunque no haya nada.

Many things, In order to assure me their lack of existence; became mine

La filosofía parece ocuparse sólo de la verdad, pero quizá no diga más que fantasías, y la literatura parece ocuparse sólo de fantasías, pero quizá diga la verdad.

creer que somos "uno" que tiene existencia por sí mismo, desligado de la inconmensurable pluralidad de los propios yoes, representa una ilusión lo demás ingenua, de la tradición cristiana de una alma única (…) porque nosotros tenemos varias almas dentro de nosotros, ¿comprende?, una confederación que se pone bajo el control de un yo hegemónico".

Reading Shakespeare is sometimes like looking through a window into a dark room. You don't see in. You see nothing but a reflection of yourself unable to see in. An unflattering image of yourself blind.

A brigand can also be portrayed publicly as a legend and those who don't understand their game plan easily extend the supporting hand to them.