Best 10944 quotes in «reality quotes» category

Good fiction doesn’t claim to mirror reality at all. It indicts reality by providing a paradigm of shape and order and justice—the way we all know things should be—without suggesting that’s how things really are. Good fiction is the mirage that declares itself a mirage, yet compels us to faith through its beauty. Good fiction is the dream that’s too good to be true, so perfect and symmetrical that it gives itself away every time. But it doesn’t trick you into suspending your disbelief by trying to look anything like reality. Good fiction makes you acutely, painfully aware of your disbelief, and makes you believe anyway. And when it’s done well—when it’s done right—good fiction is more real than reality.

good dreams can be inspirations to bring in to make reality fantastic enough to share

Good news didn't seem real until you'd told at least a dozen friends.

Go outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; think of all the beauty in yourself and in everything around you and be happy.

Gratitude is one of the greatest attitude you have to adopt if you want to live a happy life”.

Great artists have wild and untamed reality.

Greatness is never achieved in the realm of dreams but in the realm of reality and the only way to achieving that greatness is to convert your time into added value to yourself and then to others.

Great man is the one who is aware of his smallness in this universe! Greatness starts first of all with accepting the reality.

Greatness is not greater than you. You have total control over greatness. You can decide to be great and it will happen.

Had I faced all the facts It seemed like I had but actually you never know just by remembering how many there were to have faced.

Happily-ever-after monogamy has been reinforced so steadily in literature that we tend to feel like failures when we don’t achieve that in reality.

Happiness doesn't depend on reality but it depends on perception.

Happiness is an inner perception, not a reality.

Happiness is there when expectations meet the reality.

Happiness is not the Achievement of Dreams. It is the Path to Dreams.

Harnessing change is the most valuable tool available for creating the reality that you clearly desire.

Harvest is real, but be wise to sow what you will love to reap in the new year, because your day of harvest is fast approaching.

Hatred is unavoidable until everyone recognizes that their ideal reality is not the same as anyone else's ideal reality. - The Malwatch

Have high hopes for the future; take action and it will be a reality.

Have you ever had a dream that you were certain was real, only to wake up and realize that everyone and everything in the dream was really you? Well this is how many mystics describe the nature of our reality, as a dream in which we think we are individual personalities existing in the physical universe. But eventually, like in all dreams, we will wake up. Except in this dream we do not wake up to realize we are still in the world, we awake from the world to realize that we are God.

Have you noticed how the cleverest people at school are not those who make it in life? People who are conventionally clever get jobs on their qualifications (the past), not on their desire to succeed (the future). Very simply, they get overtaken by those who continually strive to be better than they are.

Hay una realidad que demuestra la verdad de un hecho. Porque nuestra memoria y nuestros sentidos son demasiado inseguros, demasiado parciales. Incluso podemos afirmar que muchas veces es imposible discernir hasta qué punto un hecho que creemos percibir es real y a partir de qué punto sólo creemos que lo es. Así que para preservar la realidad como tal, necesitamos otra realidad -una realidad colindante- que la relativice. Pero, a su vez, esta realidad colindante necesita una base para relativizarse a sí misma. Es decir, que hay otra realidad colindante que demuestra, a su vez, que ésta es real. Y esta cadena se extiende indefinidamente dentro de nuestra conciencia y, en un cierto sentido, puede afirmarse que es a través de esta sucesión, a través de la conservación de esta cadena, como adquirimos conciencia de nuestra existencia misma. Pero si esta cadena, casualmente, se rompe, quedamos desconcertados. ¿La realidad está al otro lado del eslabón roto? ¿Está a este lado?

Healthy people learn how to frequently adjust their thoughts to make reality comfortable and realistic.

Heavenly realities are found in the presence of God

He comes. And he comes loaded with noise pollution. If I ever prayed for anything, it was for a man to shut up.

He closed his eyes and the warmth sank into his head, bringing an immediate sense of life. Reality came through the violent breathing, and with a sort of nostalgic remorse. He felt as though he was waiting tranquilly for some undefined revenge.

He closed his eyes and wanted to cry, as the reality of his situation set in.

He decided to re-read his story from the beginning. As he read he felt as if he was falling forwards into the blank, white spaces of the screen, and the words faded from his consciousness to be replaced completely by the things that they described.

He couldn’t grab reality if he attempted the task with both hands.

He continued with a laugh, "And for highly motivated people, there are few more frustrating situations than realizing that the goals you've set will require a shift in the basic laws of time and space.

He excused himself for a nap, and this day blended into his dreams like like years blended into a life, unseen but still felt, the line between memory and present always bleeding.

He gets away with it because he's strong.' 'This is the story of mankind.' 'I thought you were going to be a priest at one point.' 'Yes. But then I read the newspaper.

He had hundreds of monsters inside him wearing his face as a mask. Screaming and trying to tear him apart and take his place. He always fought furiously to hold them back and it created an unending chaos inside him. Eventually, in the end, he lost all his strength and battles. He was dragged down into the abyss. He cried and fought hard to find his way back home. To get out from there again and to be himself. But among all these masks, the real he was lost forever. He never made it back again, and he was not himself anymore.

He had never experienced anything like this before outside the Zone. And it had happened in the Zone only two or three times. It was as though he were in a different world. A million odors cascaded in on him at once—sharp, sweet, metallic, gentle, dangerous ones, as crude as cobblestones, as delicate and complex as watch mechanisms, as huge as a house and as tiny as a dust particle. The air became hard, it developed edges, surfaces, and corners, like space was filled with huge, stiff balloons, slippery pyramids, gigantic prickly crystals, and he had to push his way through it all, making his way in a dream through a junk store stuffed with ancient ugly furniture … It lasted a second. He opened his eyes, and everything was gone. It hadn't been a different world—it was this world turning a new, unknown side to him. This side was revealed to him for a second and then disappeared, before he had time to figure it out.

He is too presumptuous about the inanities of appearances, poor realities gone for a toss.

He squeezed her limp hand almost with violence, as though he would force her to come back from this dream of ignoble pleasures, from these base and hateful memories_back into the present, back into reality: the appalling present, the awful reality_but sublime, but significant, but desperately important precisely because of the imminence of that which made them so fearful.

He sees her looking at him with interest, and is encouraged to go on. 'I wouldn't be here with you now. This wouldn't be real - something else would. You'd have been another you, instead of the one you are now. You can't be tied down to a predestined fate when you change according to your situation, and your fate must change too. Everything depends on circumstances - on which "you" you happen to be at a given time...

Hello insanity, goodbye reality.

Help those who need it, not who want it.

Hepimiz, ama hepimiz köleyiz Will Henry...Bazılarımız korkunun kölesiyiz.Bazılarımızda mantığın ya da en ilkel arzularımızın kölesiyiz. Köle olmak kaderimiz. Will Henry, asıl mesele neye inanacağımız.Gerçeğe ya da yalana mı bağlı kalmalıyız, umuda ya da çaresizliğe mi, yoksa ışığa ya da karanlığa mı? Ben ışığa hizmet etmekten yanayım, ama ne yazık ki çoğu zaman kendimi karanlıkta buluyorum.

Here's the thing: It's not easy to be a woman in this business. There will always be jokes about your body. There will always be guys who steal your best ideas and pass them off as their own. There will always be actors who push you to the ground. There will always be networks that ask you to lose weight. There will always be jobs you will not get based on your looks. And the men will continue to support one another and show up for one another and hire one another, but if YOU want to stick around, girl, you better be damn sure you smile when they ask and wear a low-cut top to your network test and lose the fucking weight and let them take credit for your words because YOU are expendable. At some point, I started to not care if I was expendable.

He's not god! He's just the asshole who fucks with us.

He tried to get drunk, “to forget about life for awhile,” as that old Billy Joel song once said, but the scotch couldn't anesthetize his pain and provide a retreat from the reality of his latest failures.

He was good and then really good and then bad and then really bad, but since he was good I got lost in the thought that I could fix it.

He wondered how many had been created by the virus, since day one. A whole weekend had passed in a city of millions. It was very possible there could be hundreds or thousands, by now. It was a terrifying thought.

He was aware that in thus relegating to irrelity a major portion of the only reality, the only existence, that he in fact did have, he was running exactly the same risk the insane mind runs: the lossof the sense of free will. He knew that in so far as one denies what is, one is possessed by what is not, the compulsions, the fantasies, the terrors that flock to fill the void. But the void was there. This life lacked realness; it was hollow; the dream, creating where there was no necessity to create, had worn thin and sleazy. If this was being, perhaps the void was better. He would accept the monsters and the necessities beyond reason. He wouldgo home, and take no drugs, but sleep, and dream what dreams might come.

He was looking for a brightness, a resolve, a triumph over tomorrow that hardly seemed to be there. Perhaps he had expected their faces to burn and glitter with the knowledge they carried, to glow as lanterns glow, with the light in them...They weren't at all certain that the things they carried in their heads might make every future dawn glow with a purer light, they were sure of nothing save that the books were on file behind their quiet eyes, the books were waiting, with their pages uncut, for the customers who might come by in later years, some with clean and some with dirty fingers.

He who sits/stands in front of the fire sees more than the flames.. He feels the heat! Too often from a distance others observe the flames only as a source of light.

He woke once more to external reality, looked round him, knew what he saw- knew it, with a sinking sense of horror and disgust, for the recurrent delirium of his days and nights, the nightmare of swarming indistinguishable sameness.

He wondered why he felt real. He knew he was but how did he know? What was it that made him so sure? What was it he felt deep down inside of him? And then the answer came. The answer lay in the question. He was real because he could ask himself that question. If he wasn’t real, he couldn’t ask himself if he was real or not. He wouldn’t even be able to think about it if it wasn’t true. That’s what made him real, he thought. There was more to him than just his reflection in a mirror. There was something beneath his skin. Something that could listen to his thoughts. Something that was more.