Quotes About Illusion

A man nearly sixty is just as ready to suppose himself fascinating as a man of twenty.

Man is a living lie--a bitter jest Upon himself--a conscious grain of sand Lost in a desert of unconsciousness.

Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous.

... I felt like a new man; but I was disappointed with the photographic documentation because I still saw always the old self.

Many men spend their lives in gazing at their own shadows, and so dwindle away into shadows thereof.

Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.

Some men, like modern shops, hang everything in their show windows; when one goes inside, nothing is to be found.

Too much of nothing can turn a man into a liar. It can cause one man to sleep on nails and another to eat fire.

Fame is a Bleet, man.

You name the TV psychic - they're con men.

Crow walked toward her, arms outstretched like a man in a dream, which he was, in a way. Sometimes a dream is enough.

There is nothing more deceptive, more grandeur, than the delusion of a single man.

The Elephant Man claimed his head was big because, it's so full of dreams. Actually, it's because his skull was shaped like a turkey.

If a man dreams about sleeping with Marilyn Monroe, he's certainly entitled to that. But when he wakes up, he has to acknowledge that he is married to someone else.

And now - Plato's words mock me in the shadows on the ledge behind the flames: '...the men of the cave would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes.

I've finally figured out what's wrong with photography. It's a one-eyed man looking through a little 'ole. Now, how much reality can there be in that?

Actors are con men and con men are actors.

All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.

Pick a man, any man. Every guy I fall for becomes Jesus Christ within the first twenty four hours.

That man has no shadow.

The world's a bubble, and the life of man, Less than a span.

How is the anxious soul of man befool'd in his desire, That thinks an hectic fever may be cool'd in flames of fire?

For trash and toys, And grief-engend'ring joys, What torment seems too sharp for flesh and blood; What bitter pills, Compos'd of real ills, Men swallow down to purchase one false good!

It is not things, but opinions about things that have absolutely no existence, which have so deranged mankind!