Illusory Nature Quotes

The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

Everything transitory is but an image.

Nothing that was real ever died, only names, forms, and illusions.

Truth lives on in the midst of deception.

Reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.

Everything is illusion. Even that last sentence.

Furthermore, I shall explain the nature of dharmata: Such a nature as this cannot be determined to be any one thing. So however you label it, that is how it appears.

We may well lie with what seems to be a woman of flesh and blood, and yet all the time it is only a devil in the shape of a woman.

Women are like dreams, they are never the way you would like to have them.

Everything is an illusion; that is the whole thing about it - illusion, immitation, a mirage. It makes me too sad. Its having like a good dream, you know you are going to wake up.

there is no such thing as fantasy unrelated to reality

The line of gray along the horizon is brighter now, and with the coming light I feel a certainty: that there is, despite our wild imaginings, only one life. The ghostly others, no matter how real they seem, no matter how badly we need them, are phantoms. The one life we're left with is sufficient to fill and refill our imperfect hearts with joy, and then to shatter them. And it never, ever lets up.

God alone is truth, everything else is transitory and illusory.

The world is nothing but a big gimmick.

Reality isn't straightforward or easily accessible.

The visible universe was an illusion or, more precisely, a sophism. Mirrors and fatherhood are abominable because they multiply it and extend it.

Illusion throughout is illusion. There is no end to it, just as there is no end to imagination.

You see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town.

Say, it's only a paper moon, / Sailing over a cardboard sea.

Things are entirely what they appear to be and behind them... there is nothing.

Throughout much of our lives, our association with the temporary has risen. This transitory body, a sack of bones and flesh, is considered erroneously as our true body and we have accepted this temporary condition as conclusive.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the world.

There has always been, for me, this other world, this second world to fall back on--a more reliable world in so far as it does not hide that its premise is illusion.

Illusions are like umbrellas - you no sooner get them than you lose them, and the loss always leaves a little painful wound.