Quotes About Illusion

Abject misery lies not in what the blanket reveals, but in what it hides.

She eyed him steadily, wondering at his sudden . . . humanity. Maybe dying did away with the usual games, the pretenses of the living dance.

He drew a ragged breath. 'You ...' Felisin waited, hoping the life would flee this husk, flee it now, before— 'You ... were ... not what I expected ...' Armour can hide anything until the moment it falls away. Even a child. Especially a child.

When memories have returned, Trull Sengar, solitude is an illusion, for every silence is filled by a clamorous search for meaning.

The wine is gone. Only sour wine fumes remain. Drunkenness pretends to resolution.

False visions of the world were a child's right, not something to be resented, but neither were they worthy of any adult sense of longing.

Certainty was an illusion, a lie. Fanaticism was poison in the soul, and the first victim in its inexorable, ever-growing list was compassion. Who could speak of freedom, when one's own soul was bound in chains?

The curse of the witless is to beat one's head against the obstinate wall of how things really are, rather than what they insist upon their being.

But the value was an illusion. Hate was a lie that in feeding fills the hater with the feeling of satiation, even as his spirit starves.

Is the universe holographic? Probably. Get microscopic enough and you start seeing pixels. I don't know about you, but that makes me laugh. Until I think about how easy it is to hack a program. Any program.

Who in their dreams is not omnipotent? If in sleep I grow wings and fly high above the land, it does not mean I will awaken cloaked in feathers. We are gods in our dreams. Disaster strikes when we come to believe the same is true in our real lives.

The laws are not what they seem. Order is an illusion. It hides its lies in your very eyes, deceiving all they see. Because to see is to change that which is seen. No, none of us will ever see true. We cannot. It is impossible. I give you a life without answers, my children.

The art of illusion is grace itself.

It's the ignorant who find a cause and cling to it, for within that is the illusion of significance. Faith, a king, queen or Emperor, or vengeance…all the bastion of fools. The

Walk with me on Thieves' Road hear its song underfoot how clear its tone in misstep as it sings you in two

Es el ignorante quien encuentra una causa y se aferra a ella, ya que ahí radica la ilusión del significado. Fe, un rey, una reina o un emperador, o una venganza... El bastión completo de los bobos.

Let's play a game. There is no gate – oh, you've seen it, I well know. But it is a lie. It is what your mind builds, stone by stone. For your kind love borders. Thresholds, divisions, delineations. To enter a place you believe you must leave another. But look around and you can see. There is no gate, my friend.

Self-avowed destinies wear a thousand masks and not one of them truly fits—" "How can they, Hull Beddict, when they're modelled on perfection?

The measure of the perfect theft is when the victim remains blissfully unaware that he or she has been stolen from.

Brother, you look unwell.' Appearances deceive, Greyfrog. For example, you have never looked prettier.

The conquerors always assumed that what they conquered was identity. But the truth was, identity could only be killed from within, and even that gesture was but a chimera.

It's because things are, Skanarow. All the complications we suffer through are hatched inside our own skulls.' 'Really? Doesn't make them any less real, though. Does it?

And what is that true sense? Why, it is the insanity of belief. And now you make us believe. With you. In you. And in your madness, which you so insist upon sharing. You taste bitter, human. You taste of your world.

They're not dream worlds, Feather Witch. They're real. In those places, we are the ghosts.