T. S. Eliot Quotes

Reality is something the human race doesn't handle very well.

Reality is what we want it to be or what we do not want it to be, but it is not our wanting or our not wanting that makes it so.

Oh yes! The one man in the world who never believes he's mad is the madman.

It's the arrangement of events which makes the stories. It's throwing away, compressing, underlining. Hindsight can give structure to anything, but you have to be able to see it. Breathing, waking and sleeping: our lives are steamed and shaped into stories. Knowing that is what keeps me from going insane, and though I don't like to admit it, sometimes it's the only thing.

Reality is a concept that depends largely upon where you point your face.

The strength of your memory dictates the size of your reality

I think the reality is important anyway.

If a man will kick a fact out of the window, when he comes back he finds it again in the chimney corner.

Few men have imagination enough for reality.

You say they create their own reality," said Veronika, "but what is reality?

The part of my brain that was responsible for creating the world I lived and moved in and for taking the raw data that came in through my senses and fashioning it into a meaningful universe: that part of my brain was down, and out. And yet despite all of this, I had been alive, and aware, truly aware, in a universe characterized above all by love, consciousness, and reality. There was, for me, simply no arguing this fact. I knew it so completely that I ached.

Life is more or less a lie, but then again, that's exactly the way we want it to be.

We have to lie to ourselves to live. Otherwise, we'd go crazy.

Dreams are imperfections of sleep; even so is consciousness the imperfection of waking. Dreams are impurities in the circulation of the blood; even so it's consciousness a disorder of life. Dreams are without proportion, without good sense, without truth; so also is consciousness. Awake from dream, the truth is known: awake from waking. The truth is: The Unknown

It is natural to man to indulge in the illusion of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, till she transforms us into beasts.

Reality is a question of perspective.

Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.

The world as we know it is falling apart at the seams, because it's an inadequate container for the truth of who we are.

Or -- and this she knew was a far more accurate way of looking at it -- the book was true and reality was lying.

The minds of human beings are not always entirely at one with the world in which they live, some people have trouble adjusting to reality, basically they're just weak, confused spirits who use words, sometimes very skillfully, to justify their cowardice.

Important things are inevitably cliche, but nobody wants to admit that.

When we consider reality itself we quickly become aware of its infinite complexity, and we realize that our habitual perception of it is often inadequate. If this were not so, the concept of deception would be meaningless.

Isn't it sad how some people's grip on their lives is so precarious that they'll embrace any preposterous delusion rather than face an occasional bleak truth?

We are what we seem to be.

We accept reality so readily - perhaps because we sense that nothing is real.