Isabel Allende Quotes

…I seemed to be lying neither asleep nor awake looking down a long corridor of gray half light where all stable things had become shadowy paradoxical all I had done shadows all I had felt suffered taking visible form antic and perverse mocking without relevance inherent themselves with the denial of the significance they should have affirmed thinking I was I was not who was not was not who.

He sat watching the people go by, wondering how a thing of this sort could have come about, I must have let myself get mixed up in something horrible, he thought ... Probably she's the one who did it; I have no control of myself or anything that's happened. So now I'm waking up. I'm awake, he thought ... I've been destroyed and now that I'm awake all I can do is realize it ... The shock of getting up there and telling that account made me see. Mixture of lies and bits of truth. Woven together. Unable to see where each starts.

I didn't know what was going through my mind.

I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

When I do not walk in the clouds I walk as though I were lost.

But still, if it's true, how can it be a lie?

The girl at her music sits in another sort of light,the fitful,overcast light of lie,by which we see ourselves and others only imprefectly, and seldom..-Girl,Interrupted

I used to go away for weeks in a state of confusion.

It's fun when you're confusing people.

To me, horror is when I see somebody lying. I mean a person I know. A friend. And he's telling me something that I accept. And then suddenly, as he or she is telling it, there's something that gives them away. They're not telling me the truth.

I tend toward characters who are more lost than found.

The world is seldom what it seems; to man, who dimly sees, realities appear as dreams, and dreams realities.

I misdirect the audience, so they have no idea where they are or who they're listening to.

Surely no one can be sure he has visited Cienega; people say to themselves, do they not: 'Was it a vision; or have I, some time or other, seen dusk in a valley like this?'

Everything is always a little surreal.

I enter the world called real as one enters a mist.

There are times I can't even figure myself out.

I've told so many lies about my age I don't know how old I am myself.

Only lie about the future.

If that comes up, I'll just confuse them.

It is not easy to distinguish reality from illusion, especially when one lives in a period of the great upheaval.

There is no shame is being ambivalent about almost everything in your life.

Eyes Tell Stories But do they know how to craft fiction? Do they know how to spin lies? His eyes swear forever, flatter with vows of only me. But are they empty promises? I stare into his eyes, as into a crystal ball, but I cannot find forever, only movies of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, dreams of a shared tomorrow. His eyes whisper secrets. But are they truths or fairy tales? I wonder if even he knows.

Silence emerges from the sound of rain and spreads in a crescendo of gray monotony over the narrow street I contemplate. I’m sleeping while awake, standing by the window, leaning against it as against everything. I search in myself for the sensations I feel before these falling threads of darkly luminous water that stand out from the grimy building facades and especially from the open windows. And I don’t know what I feel or what I want to feel. I don’t know what to think or where I am.

I'm not sure whether it is me changing my mind, or whether I lie a lot.