Francesca Lia Block Quotes

The world, life and human beings are only an illusion, a phantom, a dream image.

Enlightenment says the world is nothing Nothing but a dream, everything's an illusion And nothing is real.

Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!

Everything that falls upon the eye is apparition, a sheet dropped over the world's true workings. The nerves and the brain are tricked, and one is left with dreams that these specters loose their hands from ours and walk away, the curve of the back and the swing of the coat so familiar as to imply that they should be permanent fixtures of the world, when in fact nothing is more perishable.

A dream itself is but a shadow.

You too must not count too much on your reality as you feel it today, since like yesterday, it may prove an illusion for you tomorrow.

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

None thrives for long upon the happiest dream.

Life and death are nothing but the mind. Years, months, days, and hours are nothing but the mind. Dreams, illusions, and mirages are nothing but the mind. The bubbles of water and the flames of fire are nothing but the mind. The flowers of the spring and the moon of the autumn are nothing but the mind. Confusions and dangers are nothing but the mind.

You know what I mean? Real and unreal, beautiful and strange, like a dream. It got me high as a kite, but it didn’t last long enough. It ended too soon and left nothing behind.” That’s how it is with dreams,” said Priscilla. “They’re the perfect crime.

One should see that all appearance is like mist and fog.

EXISTENCE, n. A transient, horrible, fantastic dream,/ Wherein is nothing yet all things do seem:/ From which we're wakened by a friendly nudge/ Of our bedfellow Death, and cry: "O fudge!"

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

A shadow of a reflection of an image of an illusion.

These are but dreaming men. Breathe, and they fade.

If nothing is the way it seems, then this life is just a haunted dream.

No reliance can be placed on the friendship of kings, nor vain hope put in the melodious voice of boys; for that passes away like a vision, and this vanishes like a dream.

Everything is an illusion.

Devils so work that things which are not, appear to men as if they were real.

Illusion is no longer possible, because the real is no longer possible.

Even the most solid of things, and the most real, the best-loved and the well-known, are only hand shadows on the wall. Empty space and points of light.

Everything is illusion. Even that last sentence.

I played with the image, because I think image is temporary. It's a projection. It's illusory.

All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.