Quotes About Illusion

Consciousness is a story that we tell ourselves. But what if that story is a lie?

I saw myself as a knight-errant...but the damsel in distress stabbed me in the back, my sword shattered on the dragon's hide, and my grail turned out to be the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

If they could only have gathered their thoughts for a moment, they would have known these fears weren't real

I went to a house that was not a house. I opened a door that was not a door. And what I saw, I saw.

truth is just a lie that everyone believes.

There are some lies that, under the right circumstances, are the only truth

Then, breathing slow, and almost deliberately, stops. But for a moment the old man doesn't realize he is dead. He can feel Martin's heart and mistakes it for his own.

the body is nothing but camouflage.

Last night, she'd looked like a million bucks. Tonight, she looked like fifty with change.

And right this second I want to live in ignorant bliss.

Everyone knows im perfect. My life is perfect. My clothes are perfect. Even my family is perfect. And although its a complete lie, i've worked my butt off to keep up the appearence that i have it all. The truth, if it were to come out, would destroy my entire picture-perfect image.

It reminds me of myself - seemingly perfect on the outside but inside is all a mush.

Outward appearances mean everything.

You, my friend, are so good at lying to yourself you're actually starting to believe the bullshit coming out of your mouth

Beauty always promises, but never gives anything.

A beautiful woman looking at her image in the mirror may very well believe the image is herself. An ugly woman knows it is not.

There is something else which has the power to awaken us to the truth. It is the works of writers of genius. They give us, in the guise of fiction, something equivalent to the actual density of the real, that density which life offers us every day but which we are unable to grasp because we are amusing ourselves with lies.

The easiest person to deceive is one's own self.

This world's a bubble.

It's all one thing — both tend into one scope - To live upon Tobacco and on Hope, The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.

Men that look upon my outside, perusing only my condition, and fortunes, do err in my altitude; for I am above Atlas his shoulders.

On a cloth untrueWith a twisted cueAnd elliptical billiard balls.

We chart delusions through collective agreement.

Sometimes even now I think I see him in the street or standing in a window or bent over a book in a coffee shop. And in that instant, before I understand that it's someone else, my lungs tighten and I lose my breath.