Best 564 quotes in «fake quotes» category

Friends with spiteful hearts and thousand eyes of evil, mock not my slumbering glory. I just might be the next in line to gain access to the secret fount of good riches.

From all the fake happiness in the world my real sadness is more precious!

Guard your heart and mind against double-minded pretentious beings. Do not allow infiltration beyond the surface. If their influence travels on the inside, they become like an incurable disease.

He reminded me of the typical soap-opera star. His words were fake, his smile was fake, and his very presence affected me like nails on a chalkboard.

He is the happiest guy of the town, Every night after closing the door of his room, He puts his smiling mask on the table.

Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what they place really is. You see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town. (57)

How empty are the insincere words of people who, so easily, speak forth "love," "family" and "friendship" without meaning what they say even if their intentions are good albeit mere flattery.

I always am in a role, lovely – for you, for them – even for myself. Yeah... Even when I’m alone, I am still in a role – and I myself am the most exacting audience I have ever had.

Hello fentanyl, goodbye world.

How do we stop them?” Edilio asked. He raised his head, and Sam saw the distress on his face. “How do you think we stop them? When your fifteenth birthday rolls around, the easy thing is to take the poof. You gotta fight to resist it. We know that. So how are we going to tell kids this isn’t real, this Orsay thing?” “We just tell them,” Astrid said. “But we don’t know if it’s real or not,” Edilio argued. Astrid shrugged. She stared at nothing and kept her features very still. “We tell them it’s all fake. Kids hate this place, but they don’t want to die.” “How do we tell them if we don’t know?” Edilio seemed genuinely puzzled. Howard laughed. “Deely-O, Deely-O, you are such a doof sometimes.” He put his feet down and leaned toward Edilio as if sharing a secret with him. “She means: We lie. Astrid means that we lie to everyone and tell them we do know for sure.” Edilio stared at Astrid like he was expecting her to deny it. “It’s for people’s own good,” Astrid said in a low voice, still looking at nothing. “You know what’s funny?” Howard said, grinning. “I was pretty sure we were coming to this meeting so Astrid could rank on Sam for not telling us the whole truth. And now, it turns out we’re really here so Astrid can talk us all into becoming liars.

I am not superior than anybody, don't say i am, else i won't defend you when you get caught.

I am not the I that you see. Most of these quotes do not belong to me.

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 didn't know who to believe but one thing I do know: when a man is living many claim relationships that are hardly so and after he dies, well, then it's everybody's party.

I'd rather be befriended as an aimless lost soul than be befriended for adornment, gain or goal.

If real scares you, you’re fake AF.

If thinking and reason crack under pressure of emotional convulsions or when commissioned facts are resulting from fibs and fake constructions, truth may be in great peril. ( ”Blame storming”)

I am kind of person who will love the real version of you no matter how bad and broken than accepting the perfect and polished but fake version of you.

Idolatry happens when you worship or praise anything excessively to the point of causing you to believe it reigns supreme. All things on this earth are temporal, even your very own desires. Be careful that you do not create idols to worship.

I don't see anything other than pretensions and low mentality in women who make a man run after a hole that would soon be inhabited by termites and worms.

I found myself, lost inside the depths of my darkest days amazed to find the most of you watching me hoping i’d stay.

If you think we're waxworks," he said, "you ought to pay, you know.Waxworks weren't made to be looked at for nothing. Nohow!" "Contrariwise," added the one marked 'DEE', "if you think we're alive, you ought to speak.

If you want to speak Devil speak, then speak Devil speak, no need to turn that innocuous shit backwards.

I have never been scared of the darkness, not even a little bit. In the dark you hear nothing but the truth, you see nothing but real faces and naked souls. On the contrary I’ve always been afraid of the light, where people talk about everything but never say a thing and where they wear a fake skin; because they do know that there is an eye watching or judging them here or there …

I have never been scared of the darkness, not even a little bit. In the dark you hear nothing but the truth, you see nothing but real faces and naked souls. On the contrary I’ve always been afraid of the light, where people talk about everything but never say a thing and wear a fake skin; because they do know that there is an eyes watching or judging them here or there …

I just screw up and fake it up.

If we could believe that he [Jesus] really countenanced the follies, the falsehoods, and the charlatanism which his biographers [Gospels] father on him, and admit the misconstructions, interpolations, and theorizations of the fathers of the early, and the fanatics of the latter ages, the conclusion would be irresistible by every sound mind that he was an impostor... We find in the writings of his biographers matter of two distinct descriptions. First, a groundwork of vulgar ignorance, of things impossible, of superstitions, fanaticisms and fabrications... That sect [Jews] had presented for the object of their worship, a being of terrific character, cruel, vindictive, capricious and unjust... Jesus had to walk on the perilous confines of reason and religion: and a step to right or left might place him within the gripe of the priests of the superstition, a blood thirsty race, as cruel and remorseless as the being whom they represented as the family God of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob, and the local God of Israel. They were constantly laying snares, too, to entangle him in the web of the law... That Jesus did not mean to impose himself on mankind as the son of God, physically speaking, I have been convinced by the writings of men more learned than myself in that lore. [Letter to William Short, 4 August, 1820]

I looked down and thought about how I was made of paper. I was the flimsy-foldable person, not everyone else.

I guess it's better to have a chalk smile, than an ink smile. Where chalk changes with the direction of wind, ink stays as a deep stain. Like rain, sun and hail against a fake plant.

Images are deceiving. Salt and sugar look exactly the same but taste very different.

In fact the "mask" theme has come up several times in my background reading. Richard Sennett, for example, in "The Corrosion of Character: The Personal Consequences of Work in the New Capitalism", and Robert Jackall, in "Moral Mazes: The World of Corporate managers", refer repeatedly to the "masks" that corporate functionaries are required to wear, like actors in an ancient Greek drama. According to Jackall, corporate managers stress the need to exercise iron self-control and to mask all emotion and intention behind bland, smiling, and agreeable public faces. Kimberly seems to have perfected the requisite phoniness and even as I dislike her, my whole aim is to be welcomed into the same corporate culture that she seems to have mastered, meaning that I need to "get in the face" of my revulsion and overcome it. But until I reach that transcendent point, I seem to be stuck in an emotional space left over from my midteen years: I hate you; please love me.

In our day and age, global society has been saturated with the wrong teaching of false positivity. The denial of darkness never equates the abundance of light. And the denial of your actual character never equates to the reality of your best character. People today are afraid to work on themselves and on their actual realities, they believe that outward appearances are enough. Outward appearances have become everything in our current day and age. People don't see what they are actually like, nor who they actually are, in reality. They live in a phantasmic version of reality. It has to stop. In the phantasmic version of reality, there is no chance to experience true love, true goodness, and true metamorphosis. The caterpillar does not become a butterfly by telling everybody it has wings. It actually buries itself in darkness and grows those wings.

I no longer believe that William Shakespeare the actor from Stratford was the author of the works that have been ascribed to him.

I'm not that good of an actor to fake something like that.

In the mirage of mirror Difficult it is to distinguish between truth and fake Remove that layer of lens on your eyes And the fake shall rattle like a snake

In the architecture of their life some may display Potemkin happiness in view of hiding the dark features of their fair weather relationship, preferring to set up a window dressing of fake satisfaction rather than being rejected as emotional outcasts. ("Absence of beauty was like hell")

I refilled the wineglass and took it with me for a nice long bubble bath, where I settled in with Ambrose's guide for low-voltage outdoor lighting. It wasn't thrilling bubble-bath reading material, but I was impressed by his imagination. You wouldn't know from the writing that he'd never actually seen a low-voltage lighting system in someone's yard, much less installed one himself. His descriptions were clear, colorful, and written with authority. The inscription wasn't bad either: To Natalie, You're a high-voltage system as far as I am concerned.

It always impressed me how predictable Reva was—she was like a character in a movie. Every emotional gesture was always right on cue.

I try not to look obvious as I wait for Mom’s answer. I feel as if I am on the edge of a knife, my feet being sliced by the blade, teetering toward one side or the other. “Oh, of course!” Mom exclaims, her voice trilling with laughter. “How could I have forgotten?” And now I know. Really know. This woman is not my mother. I don’t know who she is, but I know absolutely who she is not.

It's fiction, the improbable is very probable in my worlds

Its funny when people recently change their attitude to gain entrance into your heart, which may only ignite your passion to close the door.

I want to be the most unsold, and the most unsought-after author, after I stop selling my fake name anagrams on the internet.

Mandy was thinking back to when she was five years old, when she, her parents and Jud went outside before Christmas and had a snowball fight with the gray snow of Sydney Mines. “This is a wicked blast,” Jud would say, and Mandy would snap photos with a 35mm disposable film camera, photos she wished very much she could step into sometimes.

Maybe I have said it, maybe I haven't chess isn't about math, it's about strategy. If you know math this doesn't make you good in chess, you must have strategy to win.

In the last 10 years, we have seen a rise in selfishness: selfies, self-absorbed people, superficiality, self-degradation, apathy, and self-destruction. So I challenge all of you to take initiative to change this programming. Instead of celebrating the ego, let's flip the script and celebrate the heart. Let's put the ego and celebrity culture to sleep, and awaken the conscience. This is the battle we must all fight together to win back our humanity. To save our future and our children.

in these shitty plastic days ...

I stood there, watching her. The whole world was a dream, I realized. Everyone was acting in a bad soap opera. The whole world was one big FOX TV show.

It was hard to tell with her. Like a chameleon, Devika effortlessly feigned the role she sensed the other person expected to see, subject to what she wanted in return—mere admiration, for which she had a vast appetite for, or to get something she desired at that particular moment.

It wasn't only the boosted experiences that bothered Rant. It was dipshit kids done up as soldiers and princesses and witches. Eating cake flavored with artificial vanilla. Celebrating a harvest that didn't occur anymore. Fruit punch that came from a factory. A ritual to placate ghosts, or whatever bullshit Halloween does, practiced by people who had no awareness of that. What bothered Rant was the fake, bullshit nature of everything.

Live life with no filters.