illusion

yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.

How impossible it is to forget the stories we tell ourselves, even when the truth should super-cede them.

An illusion threatens no one with harm. Neither can it be dispelled by armed force.

Could there ever be a wise man without the wisdom or life or without the death of illusion?

Work, the gospel of work, the sanctity of work, laborare est orare - all that tripe and nonsense. 'Work!' he once broke out contemptuously against the reasonable expostulations of Philip Quarles, 'work is no more respectable than alcohol, and it serves exactly the same purpose: it just distracts the mind, makes a man forget himself. Work's simply a drug, that's all. It's humiliating that men shouldn't be able to live without drugs, soberly; it's humiliating that they shouldn't have the courage to see the world and themselves as they really are. They must intoxicate themselves with work. It's stupid. The gospel of work's just a gospel of stupidity and funk. Work may be prayer; but it's also hiding one's head in the sand, it's also making such a din and a dust that a man can't hear himself speak or see his own hand before his face. It's hiding yourself from yourself. No wonder the Samuel Smileses and the big business men are such enthusiasts for work. Work gives them the comforting illusion of existing, even of being important. If they stopped working, they'd realize that they simply weren't there at all, most of them. Just holes in the air, that's all. Holes with perhaps a rather nasty smell in them. Most Smilesian souls must smell rather nasty, I should think. No wonder they daren't stop working. They might find out what they really are, or rather aren't. It's a risk they haven't the courage to take.

she is an illusion... she can fake everything... you may feel she don't have emotions but may be she is the most emotional one...

People care much more for how things look than how things are.

Want something true?- I killed god... ...Hahaha, look your face... you started believing me... whaterver to be honest god is the world best Illusion in this world "Matrix".

In his mind, the city, as it awoke from its slumber, seemed to be built on quicksand. The stability was illusory.

You said you were a fairy princessYou said you were a shooting starYou said we'd go to Bora BoraNow look at where the fuck we are

As usual, small towns like this were full of those who needed entertainment and whilst money was difficult to earn, the philosophy of giving the people what they wanted, which Franco lived by, had paid dividends.

In reality nobody can grasp anything permanently in life. Absolutely nothing. Somethings may stay in memory for a while but eventually that too fades away.

Sweet words. Gentle deceptive balm. Help, love, to belong together, to come back again_ words, sweet words. Nothing but words. How many words existed for this simple, wild, cruel attraction of two bodies! What a rainbow of imagination, lies, sentiment, and self-deception enclosed it!

My father looked on in disbelief, overwhelmed that his son had been taught to eat glass and relish it.

The pursuit of illusion is not about studying for prizes, or for study's sake. There's no right or wrong, no pass or fail.

It was cruel. Like opening a birdcage to let the bird fly out, whilst all the while it's tethered by the leg, and freedom is only an illusion.

How many minutes will still die in the swamp of your illusion of being human?

How strange when an illusion dies. It's as though you've lost a child.