Quotes About Illusion

And when my picture came out in the magazine the twelve of us were working on—drinking martinis in a skimpy, imitation silver-lamé bodice stuck on to a big, fat cloud of white tulle, on some Starlight Roof, in the company of several anonymous young men with all-American bone structures hired or loaned for the occasion—everybody would think I must be having a real whirl. Look

Words, dimly familiar but twisted all awry, like faces in a funhouse mirror, fled past, leaving no impression on the glassy surface of my brain.

ÎÈ™i închipuiau c? eram aÈ™a de viteaz?, lucrând atât doar ca s? ascund o inim? frânt?.

I thought it would be the way I'd feel if I ever visited Europe. I'd come home, and if I looked closely into the mirror I'd be able to make out a little white Alp at the back of my eye. Now I thought that if I looked closely into the mirror I'd see a doll-size Constantin sitting in my eye and smiling out at me

Y yo sabía que a pesar de todas las rosas y besos y cenas en restaurantes que un hombre hacía llover sobre una mujer antes de casarse con ella, lo que secretamente deseaba para cuando la ceremonia de boda terminase era aplastarla bajo sus pies como la alfombra de la señora Willard.

What did I think was wrong? That made it sound as if nothing was really wrong, I only thought is was wrong.

the city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

Lifting the pages of the book, I let them fan slowly by my eyes. Words, dimly familiar, but twisted all awry, like faces in a funhouse mirror, fled past, leaving no impression on the glassy surface of my brain.

Es kam mir vor, als müsse Schatten das Schönste auf der Welt sein, die Millionen beweglicher Formen und Sackgassen des Schattens. Schatten fand sich in Kommodenschubladen, Wandschränken, Koffern, und Schatten fand sich unter Häusern, Bäumen, Steinen, auch fand sich Schatten ganz hinten in den Augen und im Lächeln der Leute, und Schatten, Meilen und Meilen von Schatten, fand sich auf der Nachtseite der Erde.

At first I didn't see what the trouble was. It wasn't a mirror at all, but a picture.

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chockfull of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.

I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms. And in truth it is terrible, Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.

From another, distanced mind, I saw myself sitting on the breezeway, surrounded by two white clapboard walls, a mock orange bush and a clump of birches and a box hedge, small as a doll in a doll's house.

What did I think was wrong? That made it sound as if nothing was really wrong, I only thought it was wrong.

Every world crowns its own kings, laurels it own gods. A Hans Anderson book cover opens its worlds: the snowqueen, bluewhite as ice, flies in a sleigh through her snow-thick air: our hearts are ice. Always: sludge, offal, shit against palaces of diamond. That man could dream god and heaven: how mud labors. We burn in our own fire.

ÄŒo si myslím, že so mnou nie je v poriadku? Znelo to, akoby v skuto?nosti so mnou bolo vÅ¡etko v poriadku, ako keby som si len myslela, že so mnou nie?o nie je v poriadku.

Never mind the three dimensions All is flat, and you not there.

So these posed sheets, before they thin to nothing, Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up.

What have I eaten? Lies and smiles .

If you only knew how the veils were killing my days. To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

This is not what I meant: Stucco arches, the banked rocks sunning in rows, Bald eyes or petrified eggs, Grownups coffined in stockings and jackets, Lard-pale, sipping the thin Air like a medicine.

Tu mente es la mayor guionista de «culebrones» de la historia: se inventa relatos increíbles, generalmente basadas en dramas y desastres, de situaciones que jamás han ocurrido y probablemente nunca ocurrirán. Mark Twain lo dijo de la mejor forma: «He tenido miles de problemas en mi vida, la mayoría de los cuales nunca sucedieron en realidad».

La mayoría de la gente jamás se da cuenta de que la esfera física es simplemente una «impresión» de las otras tres.