Quotes About Illusion

You think there's something here, something to find. Well, in the world you'd learn soon enough. You, too, are cut out for failure; not that you'd fight the world. You'd let it chew you up and spit you out, and you'd lie there wondering what was wrong. Because you'd always expect the world to be something it wasn't, something it had no wish to be.

You think my life is camouflage?" Ben held the stare. "Sir, I think everything you do from the moment you wake up to the moment you let yourself sleep is nothing more than a shadow dance.

Most men think well of themselves, and this is self-delusion. Vain

My protective coloration isn't intended to deceive you, my sweet. It is intended to deceive me.

Reality is relative. Devils, evil spirits, witches and so on became real enough to the people who believed in them. Just as God is to people who believe in Him. When people live their lives by their beliefs objective reality is almost irrelevant.

It must be, I thought, one of the race's most persistent and comforting hallucinations to trust that "it can't happen here" -- that one's own time and place is beyond cataclysm.

A giant magic mouth appeared.

It is dangerous to think people human, who once have been divine.

It embarrasses him when I try to overhear conversations in restaurants, or sit and stare with my mouth open in the train, and what good does it do, since other people's lives remain an illusion? You may catch at their clothes and are sometimes left with shreds of them in your hands, but the people themselves are gone and then what little treasure and brightness you may bring home to yourself… changes at once to darkness, is absorbed by your own shadow.

It embarrasses him when I try to overhear conversations in restaurants, or sit and stare with my mouth open in the train, and what good does it do, since other people's lives remain an illusion? You may catch at their clothes and are sometimes left with shreds of them in your hands, but the people themselves are gone and then when little treasure and brightness you may bring home to yourself… changes at once to darkness, is absorbed by your own shadow.

It's an illusion I've noticed before-- words on a page are like oxygen to a petrol engine, firing up ghosts. It only lasts while the words are in your head. After you put down the paper or pen, the pistons fall lifeless again.

Writing to you like this makes me feel that you are still alive. It's an illusion I've noticed before—words on a page are like oxygen to a petrol engine, firing up ghosts. It lasts only while the words are in your head. After you put down the paper or the pen, the pistons fall lifeless again.

Pick a man, any man. Every guy I fall for becomes Jesus Christ within the first twenty-four hours of our relationship. I know that this happens, I see it happening, I even feel myself, sometimes, standing at some temporal crossroads, some distinct moment at which I can walk away and keep it from happening, but I never do. I grab at everything, I end up with nothing, and then I feel bereft. I mourn for the loss of something I never even had.

Grandfather used to say that when a woman got ready to fall in love the man didn't matter, because she could drape her feeling over a scarecrow and pretend he was handsome...

Happiness, you see, its just an illusion of Fate, a heavenly sleight of hand designed to make you believe in fairy tales. But there's no happily ever after. You'll only find happy endings in books. Some books.

It was strange to see that no matter what color the clothing first appeared—and they were all hues, from earthy copper and garnet to the blue of sky and shadow—in different light all turned to some shade of green, as if there were a third plane to the cloth's weaving beyond the warp and weft.

Rubbish," Max said. "Anyone can put on clumpy boots and pierce themselves silly. A truly dangerous person would be someone you'd never even look at twice.

Grace sat down where the chair wasn't.

Is this the life you really want? Or is it just the fantasy of it?

I slept and dreamed that life was beauty.I woke—and found that life was duty.

Realmente es la búsqueda de un otro que no existe, y que sin embargo nos tiene arteramente contaminada la identidad.

Then he just blurted it out, with no preparation. 'The truth of it is that whether your mother arranged our marriage, or whether it was all an illusion, I must be horribly obtuse, because I can't talk myself out of being in love with you.

We all think we have time, you know. It's this miracle substance and there seems to be so much of it, and then all of a sudden, it's gone.

What's the good of being Juliet when Romeo shows no sign of killing himself for love, but instead prances off with Rosalind.