Quotes About Illusion

Love is a crazy thing. It sucks and is totally overrated.

It is with true love as it is with ghosts; everyone talks about it, but few have seen it

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Love: The delusion that one woman differs from another

Look your best--who said love is blind?

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a woman too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem?

People say they love truth, but in reality they want to believe that which they love is true.

When two people are really happy about one another, one can generally assume that they are mistaken.

This is one of the miracles of love: It gives a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.

All young women begin by believing they can change and reform the men they marry. They can't.

Marriage is a good deal like a circus: there is not as much in it as is represented in the advertising

Love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Maybe some lies, maybe most of them, were lies we only told ourselves.

He nodded. "You're right. It's probably for the best." Bitterness rose in my throat. I hated things being for the best. They never really were. It was a phrase that sugarcoated the leftover crumbs of our options.

I felt something wet trickle down the side of my face. I reached up and swiped the salty wetness away. How quaint. How very quaint. Like believing some things last forever. A tear. As if that could make a difference.

It had been a clever deception from the very beginning.

Love … It's a nice little trick if you can find it.

I have two arms but not a bone, I can't be hurt with knife or stone. I have a head but lack a face, I don't need eyes to match your pace. I'm shifty, a thief, a trick of the eyes, My robes are made of mystery and lies. I am short, I am thin, I am monstrous and tall, But when midnight comes, I am nothing at all.

Los quizás podían retorcer cosas que en realidad nunca existieron

Brightmist. It's one of the poorest quarters. Don't let the name fool you. Nothing bright about it. Garvin was wrong. There was at least one bright thing about it. -Jase

I have no fingers, but can pick you apart, I'm not a healer, but can mend a heart, I amuse and hush, decieve and astound, And there's no sword forged that can cut me down. With rosy enticement and pouty appeal, I can twist and shape and pour forth zeal, I am made of snare, touch and gold. And you, kind sir, add a touch of bold. - (A riddle by Kazi)

The thing about a mark is they've created lies in their head, a story they've invented that they desperately want to believe, a fantasy that merely needs to be fed.

It all came back. Yes, it came back. For the last two months it had ceased to be; it had been blotted out—hidden, forgotten; there had been no such thing. An enchanter's wand had been waved above that dreary square-built house in the dusty lane, and a fairy palace had arisen for her habitation; a fairy-land of beauty and splendour had spread itself around her, a paradise in which she wandered hand in hand with a demigod.

Self-assertion may deceive the ignorant for a time; but when the noise dies away, we cut open the drum, and find it was emptiness that made the music.