Best 10944 quotes in «reality quotes» category

I am a storyteller, not a historian, and it's my ambition to create something compelling - something unputdownable and riveting - that chimes with the real history but is, in fact, fiction.

I am immersed in another reality.

I am glad you are happy--but I never believe much in happiness. I never believe in misery either. Those are things you see on the stage or the screen or the printed page, they never really happen to you in life.

I am more one for the story, I think, than the action.

I am not a believer of the law of attraction (though I do not deny the possibilities of it to be true), but I firmly believe in the ability of making choices, the ability to take conscious decisions.

I am not a victim of circumstance, situation, nor any external condition of life. I am an active participant in the creation of my reality, meaning, I am actively participating in the creation of what I think, what I feel, what I spend my time on, who I spend my time with, what I consume mentally and physically, and all the blessings and contrastive experiences that come my way. Every effect has a cause and every cause has an effect, all of which include me because it is my life to live, my life to use, and my life to enjoy.

I am not a human being enjoying a spiritual life, I am a spiritual being enjoying a human life.

I am not pretty; I am not ugly. I am not true, and I am not false. I am just me—a reality, a conception, and not a misinterpretation.

I am real. This”–he put his other hand over the first-“is real. You see me interacting with other people all day long, don’t you? I talk to people; I affect things in the world. I cause things to happen. I am real.” “But-but what if this whole place”-I had to suck in air again-“what if everything is inside my head? East Shoal and Scarlet and this bridge and you-what if you’re not real because nothing is real?” “If nothing’s real, then what does it matter?” he said. “You live here. Doesn’t that make it real enough?

I believe in a metaphorical reality, but not in a metaphysical one.

I cannot understand why we idle discussing religion. If we are honest—and scientists have to be—we must admit that religion is a jumble of false assertions, with no basis in reality. The very idea of God is a product of the human imagination. It is quite understandable why primitive people, who were so much more exposed to the overpowering forces of nature than we are today, should have personified these forces in fear and trembling. But nowadays, when we understand so many natural processes, we have no need for such solutions. I can't for the life of me see how the postulate of an Almighty God helps us in any way. What I do see is that this assumption leads to such unproductive questions as why God allows so much misery and injustice, the exploitation of the poor by the rich and all the other horrors He might have prevented. If religion is still being taught, it is by no means because its ideas still convince us, but simply because some of us want to keep the lower classes quiet. Quiet people are much easier to govern than clamorous and dissatisfied ones. They are also much easier to exploit. Religion is a kind of opium that allows a nation to lull itself into wishful dreams and so forget the injustices that are being perpetrated against the people. Hence the close alliance between those two great political forces, the State and the Church. Both need the illusion that a kindly God rewards—in heaven if not on earth—all those who have not risen up against injustice, who have done their duty quietly and uncomplainingly. That is precisely why the honest assertion that God is a mere product of the human imagination is branded as the worst of all mortal sins.

I can think of no more dangerous a position than to learn to tolerate evil in order to become accustomed to reality.

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.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat thinking I’m being chased by a grunting, disfigured man wielding a hatchet. Usually we're at an abandoned campground, which leads me to believe this is a subconscious mashup of Friday the 13th and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He never catches me. The only thing that ever happens is I'm running and he's chasing. It's pretty horrible. I know it’s not real, but it feels real, and you know how feelings are. They make everything real.

I carry out sun rituals on the slopes of high mountains. But I am also taboo for myself, untouchable because forbidden.

I can't tell you what's real for you. But in return, you can't say what's real for me either. I get to choose. Not you.

I collect my thoughts, I choose my words, Whenever I decide to talk to you. But... I feel like a dumb, without a tongue, Whenever I reach in front of you. I wonder why it happens to me? even when my feelings are genuine and true.

I clap so that I can hold on to this feeling. I clap because I know what will happen when I stop. It’s the same thing that happens when I turn off a really good movie - one that I’ve lost myself to - which is that I’ll be thrown back to my own reality and something hollow will settle in my chest.

I could leave the world of the book enthralled and inspired, but the real world awaited me, to caress or to kick me; reality was a powerful force that could not be ignored.

I could enjoy the simple life with a small living quarters, a scratched album of Johnny Cash and a Box of Twinkies

...I couldn't care less what the colours are in reality.

I could never really manage to tell reality and my dream world apart, for the two of them co-existed together as they slid over top of each other.

I cry looking at our reality, through slave eyes. I bet they would say our generation has crossed the line.

Ideas do matter and do have consequences.

Ideals are like an image of reality at a given time from a given reality. Just like no photograph of a person can truly describe him, no ideal can represent reality as it is.

Ideas become reality. once you hit that reality, you get a new idea. it's a virtuous upward spiral. However, the majority are satisfied living within the idea of the reality instead of the reality of the idea.

I decided that in spite of my silence I would demonstrate and reproduce in reality the picture of the church that I saw inside my spirit

Identify the sequence of stages that leads to turning your dreams into reality

I’d have to prove to everyone, including Ellia, that I was more than some guy she used to know, that what we shared had and still mattered. She may have forgotten the promise we made on the beach, but I hadn’t, and it was up to me to backup those words with action. Memories and ghosts were for the dead. Living things moved, and I was never one to stand still." ~Liam

I decided to give up meaningless sex, but then I remembered that everything is meaningless.

I discovered at an early age that I was - shall we be kind and say different? It's a better, more general word than the other one... I got sick... It was the feeling that the great, deadly pointing forefinger of society was pointing at me - and the great voice of millions chanting, "Shame. Shame. Shame." It's society's way of dealing with someone different.

I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see they are often wrong.

I do not judge the individual based on their belief. If I were to, then I would, undoubtedly, be no better than the (religious) system that I frown upon.

I do not want you to live in the dream world because time erratically passes away in that world. Come to reality and begin to act now.

I don't assign myself to the names of any religious or non religious groups I prefer my actions and beliefs to be manic or marvelous just like me

I don't cry, as a rule. Nothing good comes out of fighting, i'll give you that, but crying? For a moment, you might feel a touch of release, but for me that's always been followed hard by waves of shame, and helplessness. I hate feeling helpless. I'll do anything to avoid it. - Watson, Jamie pg. 49-50

I don't know about you but I find I want to resist Buber here. Because personally I am pretty attached to my own feelings (and the complex, fascinating personality they imply). But even if I can't accept Buber totally here, I do find him a useful correction to some of my worse instincts. Looking at my life through a Buber lens, for example, I see that it is quite possible that my feelings, as strong as they may be, may disclose no more of reality to me than is afforded by the outline of my own self-image. This is useful knowledge. Every day I am confronted by situations in which I must judge the reality or otherwise of a situation by way of my feelings about it (this is especially acute in marital arguments). But just because I feel something very strongly, does this make it true? Isn't it possible that in may cases where my feelings are strong I may indeed be no different to all those delusional girls in the Bieber signing queue, who have so many feelings for him, after all, so very many sincere, deep, excruciating feelings, which are, of course, what define their identity, what makes of each of them Beliebers ...

I don’t know what understanding myself is. I don’t look inside. I don’t believe I exist behind myself.

I don't know whether it is beautiful or sad, that I find such blissful happiness within the confines of my own mind, more so than I do in the reality that surrounds me.

I don't pay much attention to the distinction between fantasy and science fiction–or between “genre” and “mainstream” for that matter. For me, all fiction is about prizing the logic of metaphors-which is the logic of narratives in general–over reality, which is irreducibly random and senseless. We spend our entire lives trying to tell stories about ourselves–they’re the essence of memory. It is how we make living in this unfeeling accidental universe tolerable. That we call such a tendency “the narrative fallacy” doesn’t mean it doesn’t also touch upon some aspect of the truth. Some stories simply literalize their metaphors a bit more explicitly.

I don't pretend reality is the same for everyone.

I don’t remember his face or the place we ate. I only remember how he grabbed my hand and his voice when he spoke of his dad.

I don't understand, Your Majesty." "Of course you don't; you academics!" Skarmak snarled. "All you do is sit in your towers, trying to think your way into a reality that exists only in your own minds, and then you judge the world as wrong because it does not conform to your impossible standards. I live in a real world, academic. And it's my real world that keeps pumping blood into your dead, idealistic one.

I don’t know true reality; I only know my emotional perception.

I don't understand," says Gerald, alone in his third- class carriage, "how railway trains and magic can go on at the same time." And yet they do.

I don’t want to see landscapes, i.e. scenic paintings of them, because I don’t want to see the original realities – as optical effects that is. I want to see the deeper reality underlying the scenic, the expression of what are sometimes called abstract imaginings. The ‘simply natural’ is interesting no longer.

I drank because it was lovely and I needed a calm to understand the reality.

I'd rather make my crib a house of God and pray directly to God verses, than listening to this hypocritical leaders/priest experiencing too much failure!!!

(...) if a child is not allowed to enter the imaginary, he will never come to grips with the real.

I fall asleep Call it deep while all is well be- Cause my life seems like a freestyle mean- While asleep on the couch I dream it's a written piece and now The symphony's sounding Shouting out to these feet whose leaps feel foul but quite loud But how I'm allowed to live my dreams My Chimeran team brings the Siberian breed Riding reality free 'til these tires they freeze In mires in dire need of wires, fire and heat but I love a dark, hard cold heart in the wintery breeze