Best 10944 quotes in «reality quotes» category

Building a good relationship with ourselves is essential for inner fulfilment, especially when we run into a large reality gap.

But a fix, some magic cure to his “poor” status, was really only a dream; reality usually took precedence over everything else, especially dreams.

But fairytales were, at best, dirty mirrors whose warped and pitted surfaces reflected a highly distorted view of the truth, quite different from reality.

But if I make an observation, what is to determine which state I am in? This means that someone else has to observe me to collapse my wave function.

But I consoled myself with the reflexion that in spite of everything she was for me the real point of intersection between reality and dream.

But I felt like I'd made a journey to the land of fairytales only to find out that the magical world was identical to the real one. Even in fairytales, the sun still burns, sand still works its way into your bikini bottoms, and the diner next door to your motel still scorches toast.

But if there was hope, it lay in the proles. You had to cling on to that. When you put it in words it sounded reasonable: it was when you looked at the human beings passing you on the pavement that it became an act of faith.

But I've learned that you can't force forever on the wrong people. They belong exactly where they are, giving exactly what they want to. I don't ask for anything more. I figure I shouldn't have to.

But it turned out life was more like the kind of song the Stones wrote: you didn't get any satisfaction, you took one hit to the body after another, if you were a woman you were a bitch who belonged under someone's thumb, and if you wanted mother's little helper from your dear doctor you better have the silver, take it or leave it, and don't come crying for sympathy, that was just for the devil.

But it was fantasy, and she knew it. It was her fantasy, and the fantasy of everyone else who would look at her and at her pictures; and it would stop being real the moment the man with the camera stopped clicking.

But it's not enough. I don't look human. If I went outside, people would scream at the sight of me. Looks matter to most people. That's reality in the world." "Not my world." I petted Pilot. "I like your world, Will, but it doesn't have a very big population. I'm going to let her go.

But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return. Was that so depressing? Who knows? Maybe that was 'despair.' What Turgenev called 'disillusionment.' Or Dostoyevsky, 'hell.' Or Somerset Maugham, 'reality.' Whatever the label, I figured it was me.

But pessimism and reality are usually mistaken for each other

But, said Alice, if the world has absolutely no sense, who's stopping us from inventing one?

But reality had other ideas.

But that is what life is all about, he said. "It is about dreaming and making those dreams come true with effort and determination - and love.

But the thing to remember about our “awakening” is that it’s a daily process. Just like how our car’s windshield gets dirty each day, and we use our windshield wipers to clean it, you too have to do a thorough sweep of yourself to find out what’s dirtying or obstructing your reality.

But this was reality, occluded and delicate.

But time moves in only one direction. Not everything that breaks can be repaired.

But when you’re a kid, it isn’t chaos. It’s just a heartbeat. Your house isn’t floating through space, it sits on the ground. Once you get old enough you start to see that color is just paint and doors are just wood. Then, at some point, that feeling of home vanishes entirely. And… that’s what I fear. That nothing will ever make me feel like I’m safe again. That once you leave home, you never get it back.

Bye-bye. I'm off on a journey to the real world. 'Cause within this meta-reality what's real is this - my death.

By expanding your views, you expand your reality.

By any measure, we live in an extraordinary and extreme time. Language can no longer describe the world in which we live. With antique ideas and old formulas, we continue to describe a world that is no longer present. In this loss of language, the word gives way to the image as the 'language' of exchange, in which critical thought disappears to a diabolic regime of conformity - the hyper-real, the omnipresent image. Language, real place gives way to numerical code, the real virtual; metaphor to metamorphosis; body to disembodiment; natural to supernatural; many to one. Mystery disappears, replaced by the illusion of certainty in technological perfection.

By convention sweet and by convention bitter, by convention hot, by convention cold, by convention color; but in reality atoms and void.

By perceiving the end of those illusive ideas and statuses as real, see yourself as though you have already accomplished what you have had a revelation to do. Then go, make it happen.

By shifting from the air to the ground, I sought to destroy any notion of scale as in Man Ray and Marcel Duchamp's Elevage de Poussiere. It's a picture which fascinates me and which I kept in my mind throughout the time I was working out there [in Kuwait]. The constant shift between the infinitely big and the infinitely small may disorientate the spectator. But it is a good illustration of our relationship to the world: we have at our disposal modern techniques for seeing everything, apprehending everything, yet we see nothing.

By trying to export myself into a place that didn't fully exist I asked works of art to bear my expectation that they could be better than life, that they could redeem life. In fact, I believe they are, and do. My life is dedicated to that belief. But still, I asked too much of them: I asked them also to be both safer than life and fuller, a better family. That they couldn't give. At the depths I'd plumb them, so many perfectly sufficient works of art would become thin, anemic. I sucked the juice out of what I loved until I found myself in a desert, sucking rocks for water.

Call it order, call it chaos, it’s all in the brain.

Can a nation really suffer? Has a nation eyes, hands, senses, affections and passions? If you prick it, can it bleed? Obviously not. If it is defeated in war, loses a province, or even forfeits its independence, still it cannot experience pain, sadness or any other kind of misery, for it has no body, no mind, and no feelings whatsoever. In truth, it is just a metaphor.

Carcasses bleed at the sight of the murderer.

Carlyle's genius was many-sided. He touched and ennobled the national life at all points. He lifted a whole generation of young men out of the stagnating atmosphere of materialism and dead orthodoxy into the region of the ideal. With the Master of Balliol, we believe that 'no English writer has done more to elevate and purify our ideas of life and to make us conscious that the things of the spirit are real, and that in the last resort there is no other reality.

Carpe Diem By Edna Stewart Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman did it, why can't I? The words of Horace, his laconic phrase. Does it amuse me or frighten me? Does it rub salt in an old wound? Horace, Shakespeare, Robert Frost and Walt Whitman my loves, we've all had a taste of the devils carpe of forbidden food. My belly is full of mourning over life mishaps of should have's, missed pleasure, and why was I ever born? The leaf falls from the trees from which it was born in and cascade down like a feather that tumbles and toil in the wind. One gush! It blows away. It’s trampled, raked, burned and finally turns to ashes which fades away like the leaves of grass. Did Horace get it right? Trust in nothing? The shortness of Life is seventy years, Robert Frost and Whitman bared more, but Shakespeare did not. Butterflies of Curiosities allures me more. Man is mortal, the fruit is ripe. Seize more my darling! Enjoy the day.

Ceea ce numim cultură e în realitate un lung proces de selecție și de cernere.

Choose your attitude and you choose your reality.

Chaos is a part of the order of reality.

Choosing comfort over knowledge is a sign of a weak mind..

Caught off guard. I was handled a thread, my imagination was handled a thread. And because I know my mind well, I know it would have preferred me saying "it was gifted", but here we are, yet another conflict, a sad heart is protesting, so we are back to the start "my imagination was handled a thread." So, recklessly but not reluctantly, currently running marathons, painting drafts, writing notes, taking deep breathes, and staring at guilt wine-stained skies, here we are again, all because of a tiny thread. Lucky me; check the foundation, check the walls, feel the beating heart and not only that but have a taste of the cherry on top, then, leave. Caught off guard, I'm left holding an endless thread, walking a road leading to an infinite ocean of possibilities, my mind is childish enough to only draw the best ones, only draw the best scenarios, to only draw my fairytale. Think twice, you are not a queen, you are not a princess, you are just a maiden, with a bright mind, caught in an endless loop of beautiful scenarios, like usual, all mine.

Changes is the mother of time. Absence of changes makes no time.

Change your thoughts to change your reality.

Choices and consequences. Choices and consequences.

Civilisation consists in giving something a name that doesn't belong to it and then dreaming over the result. And the false name joined to the true dream does create a new reality. The object does change into something else, because we make it change. We manufacture realities.

Collaboration is about “team work.” It’s not a cliché, it’s a practical reality.

Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longings of the day.

Complaining only make things worse not work.

Concerning this a man once said:Why such reluctance? If you only followed the parables you yourselves would become parables and with that rid of all your daily cares. Another said: I bet that is also a parable. The first said: You have won. The second said: But unfortunately only in parable. The first said: No, in reality; in parable you have lost.

Conchpore is real. It is as real as Malgudi, Brahmpur, Lilliput or Macondo. And also as real as San Francisco, Madurai, Edinburgh, Gaborone or Tokyo. You know that fictional towns exist. You visit them all the time.

Confirming what you see as reality...is a true sign of your arrogance.

Consciousness is a result of environment. Our cognitions - our idea of reality - are shaped by what we can perceive, by the limitations of our senses.

Consciousness is a result of environment. Our cognitions -- our idea of reality—are shaped by what we can perceive, by the limitations of our senses. We think we’re seeing the world as it really is, but... it’s all just shadows on the cave’s wall.... Every moment is equally real and happening now, but the nature of our consciousness only gives us access to one slice at a time.... Our flawed perception shuts off access to all the others.

Consciousness determines existence.