illusion

Personal discontent and lost illusion is the catalysis and the principal theme for every book ever written. The sign of maturity is when a person finally realizes that they would rather live truthfully than persist indulging his or her comforting delusions.

The medication given during mental-ill health makes you rather weaker in body, in soul and in spirit.

Maybe illusion and artifice__ies, even__re a necessary part of romance.

That illusion of a world so shaped that it echoes every groan, of human beings so tied together by common needs and fears that a twitch at one wrist jerks another, where however strange your experience other people have had it too, where however far you travel in your own mind someone has been there before you - - is all an illusion. We do not know our own souls, let alone the souls of others. Human beings do not go hand in hand the whole stretch of the way. There is a virgin forest in each; a snowfield where even the print of birds' feet is unknown. Here we go alone, and like it better so. Always to have sympathy, always to be accompanied, always to be understood would be intolerable.

For it was through books that she felt her life to be unjudged Look at all of the great mix-ups, messes, confinement, and double-dealings in Shakespeare, she thought.Identities disguised continually, in a combative dance of illusion and discovery.

On the surface, we come to understand that who we are is something separate from all other objects in the world. This is the first and primary of illusions we are taught to believe after having been welcomed to the human world. I do not use the word __llusion_ in a negative sense, but in a necessary one. Just as the enjoyment of a film or theatrical play may depend upon the ability of the actors to woo the audience into believing the world they are portraying; the enjoyment of life may also be found in our own ability to wield the power of illusion.

When water is being filled in a pot, the sound we hear is a function of the pot, not of the water. Same water makes different sounds in different pots. Each of us, described in Sanskrit as Ghata, meaning pot, responds in a unique way to the stimuli from the surrounding environment. Do not be surprised when the response of another appears entirely different from yours. The pot has created the illusion of a wall, of mine and other. Once you become aware of that illusion, otherness melts and the universe becomes a unified verse again, with apparently diverse responses becoming part of the same symphony.

Sometimes, one wants to have the illusion that one is making ones own life, out of one's own resources.

So it was a crossroads summer, when the universe seemed to stand perilously still like an egg wobbling on a precipice, a regular rite of passage summer that saw us traverse the hazardous divide between the illusions of boyhood and the far more pernicious deceptions of maturity, et cetera.

There is nothing so cunning as tangled deception. If you wish to seek out the truth, first uncover the lies that surround the illusion...

And James Loewen just proved that we all are wrong... this concept is fucking hard to be swallowed.

There's a difference between playing and playing games. The former is an act of joy, the latter _ an act.

I can fight with a real problem. But I cannot solve the ignorance. I cannot solve the illusion of your mind.

If you know one thing very well and the rest only superficially, that one thing will always appear to be more 'unique.

Enlightenment is the AWARENESS that ALL is ONE and ONE is ALL. Ignorance is the illusion of separateness.

You're a dream. Like everything else.

Wondering is positive illusion.

My love, my love, is a flame in the dark covered in glass. So glowingly beautiful to others on the outside, while slowly suffocating inside.