Quotes About Illusion

Men will tell you that they are so in love with you that it is making them ill. They will say they have stopped eating and sleeping. They say that they fear unless they can have you they will die. Then, the moment you given, they get up and walk away and lose all interest. The next week they will pass you by as if they don't know you.

when pleasures you deny yourself turn out not to be pleasures, you're doubly destroyed, for not only do you lose an illusion, you also feel futile

He wants to ask her, what did you think would come out of this? That you would sit in a turret, and Tom Truth come riding over the hills, his lyre slung behind his saddle? And you at the high window, letting down your strawberry tresses? When Mary Fitzroy stood guard outside the door, did you know how your beau would secure you, with a brutal thrust that made you bleed? Did you know how he would use and spoil you?

Do you look like the photograph on your book jackets? Authors, I find, seldom do.

If Henry is the mirror, he is the pale actor who sheds no lustre of his own, but spins in a reflected light. If the light moves he is gone.

Life is not like detective stories. There is a wider scope for interpretation. The answers to all the questions that beset you are not in facts, which are the greatest illusion of all, but in your own heart, in your own habits, in your limitations, in your fear.

You wonder what else you have always believed, believed without foundation.

Sometimes peace looks like war, you cannot tell them apart. . .

We know so little about one another. We embrace a shadow and love a dream.

Och vad är månskenet? Solsken i andra hand. Försvagat, förfalskat.

Hon var inte vaken då hon gifte sig med den människan, hon gjorde det i sömnen. I drömmen ske ju ofta de besynnerligaste saker, och de förefalla fullkomligt naturliga och vanliga - i drömmen. Men då man vaknar och erinrar sig vad man har drömt, häpnar man och gapskrattar eller ryser. Nu har hon vaknat!

Realism...has no more to do with reality than anything else.

Maska ir ?r?j? paties?ba. Nevis t?p?c, ka atkl?j, kas aiz t?s sl?pjas, bet t?p?c, ka aiz t? nek? nav.

The Folk doubtlessly learned this lesson long ago. They do not need to deceive humans. Humans will deceive themselves.

Marks forget that whenever something's too good to be true, that's because it's a con.

The moment she was cursed, I lost her. Once it wears off- soon- she will be embarrassed to remember things that she said, things she did, things like this. No matter how solid she feels in my arms, she is made of smoke.

Memory is slippery. It bends to our understanding of the world, twists to accommodate our prejudices. It is unreliable. Witnesses seldom remember the same things. They identify the wrong people. They give us the details of events that never happened. Memory is slippery, but my memories suddenly feel slipperier.

He looks like the good boy he's never been.

Faerie might be beautiful, but its beauty is like a golden stag's carcass, crawling with maggots beneath his hide, ready to burst.

You're awful." He said it as though he was delighted. "And the worst part is that you believe otherwise.

Like a stage magician, the con artist misdirects suspicion. While everyone's watching for him to pull a rabbit out of a hat, he's actually sawing a girl in half. You think he's doing one trick when he's actually doing another. You think that I'm dying, but I'm laughing at you.

He wondered whether growing up was learning that most stories turned out to be lies.

Perhaps it is Oak who is the fool, who caught a wolf and thought that by putting it in a gown and speaking to it as though it were a girl, it would become one.

Sometimes lying is a real pleasure.