Best 109 of Surreal quotes - MyQuotes
I squared my shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that I was standing in the apartment of the sea witch, wearing a fairy-tale prom gown, waiting for the attack of the mermaids.
From Time for College - Mr. Chiardi & Other Stories It was time for Junior to go to college. He’d sprouted pubic hair and was eyeing all the girls. “I want to go to college,” he said. “Yes,” I replied, “It’s time.” His mother, my wife, was resigned to the fact that it was time for Junior to leave the nest. She sat on a stool at the granite kitchen counter, spiked coffee beside her, reading The New York Times. She looked almost real.
I started getting emails from Anna Wintour inviting me to her dinners. It was just surreal.
Mandy loved the smell of a sunny day after a night of rain. The sun hit the orange puddles, the overgrown, soft, green grass on her lawn, and it beamed down through the orange steel mill smog, sending otherworldly, bizarre shadows across the concrete sidewalk.
To be labeled as a strong woman when you feel vulnerable is a strange place to be, because then you're, like, "Oh, I have to be strong now. But I don't feel strong. I feel alienated. I feel isolated. I feel that things are very surreal, and they're not authentic, and this is all just very overwhelming.
I have saved no one but myself and now I watch for the other universe to unravel in my skull, for the sky to become my own skin and fill with stars.
St. John Morris
What have you got in there you little bastard?
St. John Morris
I once went to one of his Virgin Vie parties and had a really good time watching Chas having a paddy whilst trying to put on Dave’s socks, before realising that he only had two feet, compared to Dave’s three.
St. John Morris
Next door but one is Quinlan Broddle, a Viceroy with a fear of gardens. So much so that he sold his garden to Virgin Atlantic and his erstwhile front lawn is now a runway where miniature helicopters and packets of crisps undertake sorties to 1940’s Dresden where they have made several dozen unsuccessful attempts to rescue the Quaker Oats man, who is being held captive by the SS on the basis that his hair looks like ice cream.
Daemon clung to Surreal as she flew along the Winds, too weak to argue, too spent to care. His heart, however... His heart held on fiercely to Jaenelle's soft, sighing caress of his name. Everything has a price.
Is happiness a sort of blissful state of mind or just a kind of surreal propensity? It may be hard to recognize its very nature, if we remain guilelessly confined in a state of woeful unawareness or in a no-man’s-land of emotions. In their dogged and obstinate quest for the zenith of happiness, many forget to take pleasure in the small things of everyday and, thus, become disgruntled and depressed instead, which leads them to a mire of gloom. ("C’est quand le bonheur “)
Without imagination, things were only as they appeared - and that was blindness. Things were more than they appeared, so much more. When he considered an oak tree, it was not just a tree. To someone small, like an ant, it was a whole landscape of rugged barky cliffs and big green leaf-plains that quaked when the sky was restless, a place of many strange creatures where fearsome winged beasts could pluck and devour someone in a blink.
I also think of those daily slaughters along the highways, of that death that is as horrible as it is banal and that bears no resemblance to cancer or AIDS because, as the work not of nature but of man, it is an almost voluntary death. How can it be that such a death fails to dumbfound us, to turn our lives upside down, to incite us to vast reforms? No, it does not dumbfound us, because like Pasenow, we have a poor sense of the real, and in the sur-real sphere of symbols, this death in the guise of a handsome car actually represents life; this smiling death is con-fused with modernity, freedom, adventure, just as Elisabeth was con-fused with the Virgin. This death of a man condemned to capital punishment, though infinitely rarer, much more readily draws our attention, rouses passions: confounded with the image of the executioner, it has a symbolic voltage that is far stronger, far darker and more repellent. Et cetera. Man is a child wandering lost—to cite Baudelaire`s poem again—in the "forests of symbols." (The criterion of maturity: the ability to resist symbols. But mankind grows younger all the time.)
In the most surreal, the most joyful, the most beautiful, the most intense, the most alive moments of life, you are absorbed into the horizon which is at its most invisible, elusive, perfect blend of sky and sea.
It began with the Christmas tree lights. They were candy-bright, mouth-size. She wanted to feel the lightness of them on her tongue, the spark on her tastebuds. Without him life was so dark, and all the holiday debris only made it worse. She promised herself she wouldn't bite down.
Looking back, my whole life seems so surreal. I didn't just turn up on the doorstep playing rugby, I had to go through a whole lot of things to get there.
This girl who's slept a hundred years has something after all. It's called Centuryitis, and it has turned me into a man. Oh, what will mamma think when she sees me?! -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz
These cities grew in approximately the same places as our cities do now, however different the shape of the continents was. There was even a New York that in some way resembled the New York familiar to all of you, but was much newer, or, rather, more awash with new products, new toothbrushes, a New York with its own Manhattan that stretched out dense with skyscrapers gleaming like the nylon bristles of a brand-new toothbrush.
For the first time Gersen saw indigenous fauna of Moudervelt: a band of lizard-foxes, with gray-green pangolin scales and a single optic orb. They reared high to watch Gersen pass by; when he slowed the car they advanced with dancing sidelong steps, for purposes Gersen could not guess. He drove on, leaving the troop staring after him.
Danny couldn't remember how many times he had driven down this particular stretch of highway.
Try this." O'Grady smiled. "It's the only thing we drink. It'll warm your insides." "What is it?" Asked the ever cautious Waldo. "We call it the Forest Flaming Special. Go ahead-drink up." "Well, okay...." Waldo lifted the cup and nearly dropped it when saw his name printed clearly on the side. "We've been expecting you." Explained Fred, beginning to laugh.
The overintellectualization of surrealism can be a bromide. A dream interpreted is a deflated dream.
The road swerved left. The crash of waves morphed into the rumble of thunder, and the black asphalt tapered to become a slender stretch of rope. She followed it up into the darkness, night spilling around and below her as someone knocked over the ink-jar of the sky and scattered its liquid to the furthest corners, dislodging silver shards of moon that bounced off her umbrella.
Surreal reality. Real surreality. Imagination Opium. Reality Morphium.
I could scarcely believe what I saw and I had the sense as in a nightmare of being involved in something both wildly improbable and relentlessly inevitable. This had to happen. Yet how could it have happened?
She used to be all right, Una, when we were kids. I liked that she wasn't fussed about her antlers.
She is brave and strong and broken all at once. As she speaks it is as if her existence is no longer real to her in itself, more like a living epitaph to a life that was.
It was like a bomb had just gone off in the kitchen, and instead of cleaning up the rubble, people were stepping around it and eating mini-quiche.
If you don't fall down now and again, it just means the training wheels are working
I just love the ideal of the surreal quality of putting it on a shoe.
Once you reach deeper and deeper into your reality, you approach closer and closer its surreal essence.
...only think a moment that we are here now, and that that was then, and it has come to this, and how odd, odd, odd it is!
St. John Morris
You little prick. It's a whelk...it's a...it's a...dead whelk!
Planet Earth is a fantastic destination if you manage to find this surreal sensation of wild liberation.
Carlton Mellick III is one of bizarro fiction's most talented practitioners, a virtuoso of the surreal, science fictional tale.
The Weaveress squinted at the loom. While any other person would merely see a thickset of colour-flashing Threads, Ærinna saw cosmic events, destinies and the collective soul of countless beings. Some of them were about to kick the bucket and kick it well. They weren’t to die of any expected natural causes either – unless one counted being “woven out of the Pattern” either natural or expected.
People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it." Yuki leaned against the car door. "But that's real hard, isn't it?" she said. "Real hard," I said. "But it's worth trying for.
Mehmet Murat Ildan
No matter how real they are, oases will always look surreal!
St. John Morris
On the other side of St John’s house is a fake egg timer who can’t maintain an erection. He shares the property with a glossy beef burger called Tom, who has been painted by a seven year old magistrate in order to be entered for this year’s Miss East Lancashire competition. Next door to them is a Dundee cake with a lisp.
Wasn't much of a life anyway. Wasn't much of a brain." "But didn't you say you were satisfied with your life?" "Word games," I dismissed. "Every army needs a flag.
F. K. Preston
What is infinity? I haven’t a clue. But maybe that’s the whole point I’ve been attempting to explain to you. The fact that it’s not known Or seen Or heard. Infinity is every person, every being, every bird. Infinity is a simple mystery. It looks like a mystery. Tastes mysterious. Feels like something completely delirious. We cannot imagine what this sound could be. All we can imagine is infinity.
When the north wind blew across the tar ponds, voices were carried away.
St. John Morris
He had also spent a day and a half without sleep trying to start an online petition to bring back the advert for Nationwide Building Society which said Dunroamin, twice, but half the through the second day of the campaign he had realised that it was an anachronism and the internet was about fourteen years away from mass consumption, so he stopped and went to sleep.
Atomize and refigure the word.
Spaghetti Westerns are really brutal and operatic with a surreal quality to the violence.
There is dancing and laughter in hell, an angel weeping openly on a park bench in heaven. My mother, dead and frantic in an attic. A white shirt on a floor. An old man in a wheelchair, rubbing his eyes. Here it is, here it is! the occupational therapists sing as they rise to the surface of the earth, smiling, bearing their terrible surprise.
In a physical body lives a surreal soul where an exotic spirit listens to its own primordial howl.
The world you are in – Is the true hell. The journey to Truth itself Is what quickens the heart to become lighter. The lighter the heart, the purer it is. The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes. And the heavier the heart, The more chained to this hell It will remain.
Mud ? They're going to put mud on my face ?" "You'll love it." "Whenever the kitties and I played stalk and pounce and we ended up muddy, everyone frowned about it." Surreal grunted softly. Only Jaenelle referred to Jaal and Kaelas, a full-grown tiger and an eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat, as "the kitties"... or voluntarily played games with them to keep their predatory skills honed. "So why is this mud different ?" Jaenelle grumbled. Stretched out on the other table, Surreal turned her head and opened one eye. "It's expensive.
I love the smell of old books,” Mandy sighed, inhaling deeply with the book pressed against her face. The yellow pages smelled of wood and paper mills and mothballs.