Best 255 quotes in «real life quotes» category

Being a writer is 1% inspiration, 50% perspiration and 49% explaining you're not a millionaire like J.K.Rowling.

Being poor, living in poverty, seemed a lot like probation - the crime being a lack of means to survive.

Child, use your brain. Think on your feet. Being polite and reserved is how we were raised, but we learned the hard way that the rest of the world isn't that way. I've perceived from conversation that you comprehend such things, like that swordplay with whatsit... that Titmouse, or whatever his name was. In other words, child, propriety has its place, but don't let your guard down. In real life, you never know who the plagers of Intrigue really are, or what they stand for.

But by the time you’ve worked long enough, hard enough, Real Life (which insists on being capitalized as if it were a personage with a proper name and a right to barge into this rental unit called your life) begins to reveal itself as something other than effort, other than accomplishment. Real Life wishes to be left to its own purposeless devices.

But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest? GWENDOLEN: But your name is Ernest. JACK: Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then? GWENDOLEN (glibly): Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.

By their actions, they will show you who they are.

C'est un vieil homme auquel on ne peut plus donner d'âge, sec, boucané, fripé comme des pommes reinettes oubliées sur les planches d'un fruitier, mais qui garde encore, sous leur peau ridée, une chair ferme et saine.

Dance is the art closest to nature, to real life.

Det var tomt i kiosken. Kan en disk satt en tjukk olding av en dame. Far hadde gitt meg en femtilapp. Feriepenger kalte han det. Det blir ikke mye ferie for femti kroner - Dronningen av Arne Berggren

David started to sense acute paranoia, it was tangible, seeping from their pores. They felt themselves isolated and vulnerable, they couldn’t be trusted to be anything like rational. They hadn’t been at the meeting on Ames yacht, David told himself. They hadn’t seen how everything had hung in the balance, the whole plan. They had made the same mistake as most conspiracy theorists, the dispossessed and uninitiated, who concoct their viewpoints from the outside, with limited data – they had assumed everything was under control and running like clockwork.

Democracy is an excellent way of ensuring that nothing much gets done. There are always interests that might get trampled upon [and no elected politician would wish to make permanent enemies by trampling upon others' interests].

Do not avoid the stairs because they are really good exercises for the real life!

Dream are different than real life but important too.

Don’t complain against life, it may hear you and double your suffering

Drift me away along with the dust traveling to infinity. To another world where it feels more at home. To another world where I don’t feel alone. Trapped in the angst of my soul. Not being embraced as a whole. A state of nothingness creeps upon me. Disappearing in the darkness of the shadows. How it has clocked my life. Because that is the only place where I find peace. I call it nyctophilia. And what am I when the day turns into the night, listening to the nocturnal and the howling wind? My soul leaving my body, To be at rest. Tears strain down my cheeks, Enough for my lungs to fight for air in the peaks. The atmosphere seems to be held in place by a certain silence, waiting for a sign to move. Even the earth forgot its behoove. Taken over by this silence that I yet do not understand myself. It seems that things don’t have a meaning, At least not anymore. The demons and darkness have taken over. Making me believe that it knows better. These demons can’t be seen, But they’re far from imaginary. They live inside my mind. Their evilness prevails, About to end the fight. Then I stop and think: This is a melancholy I’ll fight one more night.

Don't cross the boundaries.

Don't look for meaning in life. It was meant to be lived not understood

Don't separate 'real' life from 'creative' life.

Do you know why we show respect to life when it shows none to us? Family is the answer

During certain periods of our lives, we may listen to a particular song that touches our hearts so much that we end up repeating the song for the umpteenth time. My question is, how would you know the next song will also touch your heart if you don't allow the playlist to flow? This happens to us in real life; sometimes we get too comfortable with one thing such that we don't allow for other experiences and opportunities.

Él no soportaba la verdadera simplicidad y yo no soportaba la complejidad falsa

Emma, okay, enough with the singing. Mommy's getting a three-pill headache.

For every moment I smile, I've braved a thousand frowns.

Even I don’t know myself... In fact, I don’t know if I really have a self at all, as I’m constantly playing different roles and pretending – not so much on stage as in real life...

Every agent has a Sig Weiss—as a rosy dream. You sit there day after day paddling through oceans of slush, hoping one day to run across a manuscript that means something—sincerity, integrity, high word rates—things like that. You try to understand what editors want in spite of what they say they want, and then you try to tell it to writers who never listen unless they’re talking. You lend them money and psychoanalyze them and agree with them when they lie to themselves. When they write stories that don’t make it, it’s your fault. When they write stories that do make it, they did it by themselves. And when they hit the big time, they get themselves another agent. In the meantime, nobody likes you.

Everyone has the right to doubt everything as often as he pleases and the duty to do it at least once. No way of looking at things is too sacred to be reconsidered. No way of doing things is beyond improvement.

Family is the only why of life

First partakers of love are always enveloped with the real intention

For our kind, there's always the burning to be more. (...) that is why true human beings feel more pain. Because we are more, but it's never quite enough - never.

Fred!" the nurse said, though they had never met. "How are we today?" Reading the nurse's name tag, Mr. Bennet replied with fake enthusiasm, "Bernard! We're mourning the death of manners and the rise of overly familiar discourse. How are you?

Everything was real, not perfect. And yet that's what had made it so perfect.

Fiction was fine, but real life was the true freak show.

First blame yourself for self let downs. People always want to blame others for their own let downs in life. When you recognize self let downs then you will draw the right people to keep you lifted up. This is not a pitty potty party. But Real talk. Real life. Speak truth to self first and all other things you seek you will find or it will find you to accept or deny. NOW THATS 100

FORKED BRANCHES We grew up on the same street, You and me. We went to the same schools, Rode the same bus, Had the same friends, And even shared spaghetti With each other's families. And though our roots belong to The same tree, Our branches have grown In different directions. Our tree, Now resembles a thousand Other trees In a sea of a trillion Other trees With parallel destinies And similar dreams. You cannot envy the branch That grows bigger From the same seed, And you cannot Blame it on the sun's direction. But you still compare us, As if we're still those two Kids at the park Slurping down slushies and Eating ice cream. Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)

From books, I winnowed the glue that held together my psyche as it struggled to stay whole. It was from stories and myths that I learned to dream, to imagine a different life, to realize potentials and probabilities other than those of the painful, poverty-mired existence I found myself in as a child. With a book I could hide in a corner, safe from the heavy hand and belt of my stepfather, and for a while not worry about where our next meal would come from, or where we would be sleeping that night, or when my mother would break and have to be sent yet again to the mental institution. Books, for me, we tiny life rafts that I clung to desperately.

From my readings, I had learned of a vast pool of human knowledge that both included books and went far beyond them in content and reach. The humans, of course, having only the faintest of intimations of quenging, use a different though related metaphor for the noosphere in which they like to dip their feet. Instead of seeing the truth of all things as a single, superluminal substance that everywhere flows like water, they conceive of it as a collection of things, and they content themselves with fashioning nets with their minds in the hope of casting them out in order to capture here a prettier pebble and there a smoother shell. Hence their name for the Oceanic wisdom that should flow among all beings: the worldwide Net.

Giving advice to a child is like flinging sand at an obsidian wall. Nothing sticks. The brutal truth is that we each suffer our own lessons—they can’t be danced round. They can’t be slipped past. You cannot gift a child with your scars—they arrive like webs, constricting, suffocating, and that child will struggle and strain until they break. No matter how noble your intent, the only scars that teach them anything are the ones they earn themselves.

Gods damn you, LOcke,'she whispered. The corners of her eyes glistened. 'Twice now? Look, uh, if I said the wrong thing---' 'No,' she said, wiping at her eyes, trying but failing to do so nonchalantly. 'No, the trouble is you said the right thing.

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Graham is late for school because I had him stay up late to watch Citizen Kane.

Contradiction. In the rational realm, the word was a blistering condemnation. Proof of flawed logic. To expose it in an adversary’s position was akin to delivering a deathblow, and she well recalled the triumphant gleam in his eyes in the instant he struck. But, she wondered now, where was the crime in that most human of capacities: to carry in one’s heart a contradiction, to leave it unchallenged, immune to reconciliation; indeed, to be two people at once, each true to herself, and neither denying the presence of the other? What vast laws of cosmology were broken by this human talent? Did the universe split asunder? Did reality lose its way?

I can't pretend to understand social media, either. I mean, I get it, I just don't understand why so many people spend so much time engaging with it. It's not real. Its just noise.

He is strong enough to stand exposed, revealing all that is vulnerable within him. He is brave enough to invite you ever closer. If you hurt him, he will withdraw, as he must, and that path to him will be thereafter for ever sealed. But he begins with the gift of himself. What the other does with it defines the future of that particular relationship.

He's not the hero and he's not the enemy and he's not a god. He's just a boy. And I'm just a girl, a girl who needs to pick up her own pieces and put them back together herself.

Historically, holism had been a break from the reductionist methods of science. Holism (...) is a way of viewing the universe as a web of interactions and relationships. Whole systems (and the universe can be seen as an overarching system of systems) have properties beyond those of their parts. All things are, in some sense, alive, or a part of a living system; the real world of mind and matter, body and consciousness, cannot be understood by reducing it to pieces and parts. 'Matter is mind' – this is perhaps the holists' quintessential belief. The founding theories of holism had tried to explain how mind emerges from the material universe, how the consciousness of all things is interconnected. The first science, of course, had failed utterly to do this. The first science had resigned human beings to acting as objective observers of a mechanistic and meaningless universe. A dead universe. The human mind, according to the determinists, was merely the by-product of brain chemistry. Chemical laws, the way the elements combine and interact, were formulated as complete and immutable truths. The elements themselves were seen as indivisible lumps of matter, devoid of consciousness, untouched and unaffected by the very consciousnesses seeking to understand how living minds can be assembled from dead matter. The logical conclusion of these assumptions and conceptions was that people are like chemical robots possessing no free will. No wonder the human race, during the Holocaust Century, had fallen into insanity and despair. Holism had been an attempt to restore life to this universe and to reconnect human beings with it. To heal the split between self and other. (...) Each quantum event, each of the trillions of times reality's particles interact with each other every instant, is like a note that rings and resonates throughout the great bell of creation. And the sound of the ringing propagates instantaneously, everywhere at once, interconnecting all things. This is a truth of our universe. It is a mystical truth, that reality at its deepest level is an undivided wholeness. It has been formalized and canonized, and taught to the swarms of humanity searching for a fundamental unity. Only, human beings have learned it as a theory and a doctrine, not as an experience. A true holism should embrace not only the theory of living systems, but also the reality of the belly, of wind, hunger, and snowworms roasting over a fire on a cold winter night. A man or woman (or child) to be fully human, should always marvel at the mystery of life. We each should be able to face the universe and drink in the stream of photons shimmering across the light-distances, to listen to the ringing of the farthest galaxies, to feel the electrons of each haemoglobin molecule spinning and vibrating deep inside the blood. No one should ever feel cut off from the ocean of mind and memory surging all around; no one should ever stare up at the icy stars and feel abandoned or alone. It was partly the fault of holism that a whole civilization had suffered the abandonment of its finest senses, ten thousand trillion islands of consciousness born into the pain and promise of neverness, awaiting death with glassy eyes and murmured abstractions upon their lips, always fearing life, always longing for a deeper and truer experience of living.

However, at fourteen years old, she didn’t understand that all those terrible troubles the heroines in her books went through in real life hurt. That the words were just words on a page, but in real life, the pain was immense. Trials and tribulations to prove your love were exactly that, trials and tribulations.

I consider my ability to arouse enthusiasm among my people the greatest asset I possess, and the way to develop the best that is in a person is by appreciation and encouragement. THerei s nothing else that so kills the ambitions ofa person as criticism from superiors. I never criticize anyone. I believe in giving a person incentive to work. So I am anxious to praise but loath to find fault. If I like anything, I am hearty in my appreciation and lavish in my praise

I describe myself as a member of the Church of England, which I suppose is an inoffensive way of saying that you don't believe in anything very much

I don’t like being retired. It’s like announcing an end to your worth, whatever that worth was, and the longer you go on, the more you realize that that worth wasn’t worth anything like you once thought it was, and that just makes it worse.

I found out the differences between “the truth” and “all the truth.” You can know some pretty terrible things about a person, and you can know they’re true. But sometimes it makes a huge difference if you know what else is true too. I read something in a book once about an old lady who was walking along the street minding her own business when a young guy came charging along, knocked her down, rolled her in a mud puddle, slapped her head and smeared handsful of wet mud all over her hair. Now what should you do with a guy like that? But then if you find out that someone had got careless with a drum of gasoline and it ignited and the old lady was splashed with it, and the guy had presence of mind enough to do what he did as fast as he did, and severely burned his hands in the doing of it, then what should you do with him? Yet everything reported about him is true. The only difference is the amount of truth you tell.