reality

You said I could be anything I wanted when I was older', I said.She smiled and said, 'And you can be. But it's not very easy to become Jewish.''I know,' I said forlornly, 'I need a number.'And she suddenly stopped smiling.

That day we held our hands and each other was indeed a beautiful dream. But, we all wake up in the end.

Because memories fall apart, too. And then you're left with nothing, left not even with a ghost but with its shadow. In the beginning she haunted me, haunted my dreams, but even now, just weeks later, she was slipping away, falling apart in my memory and everyone else's, dying again.

reality sucks, that's probably why we dream. Why our bodies need sleep. So we can escape. Escape this earth, at least just for a little while. Everynight, we get to go away. Sleep is the only time I feel safe. The only time I can leave this place. This reality that feels like needles sticking into my flesh. This hell that is so hot it makes my hair sweat. Makes mymind melt. In my sleep I hear music, I see faces, songs and smiles and dad hugging me tight. Never letting me go. Telling me to be strong. Telling me not to give up hope. Sometimes I wake up crying. Sometimes I wish I didn't wake up at all" - jamie adoff

You should not try to live without thinking and feeling, for then you are only a piece of machinery, not a human being. Even if it hurts. Even if the thing you have to think of are sad, think them through; live them through and write or tell me. Only when we completely work through our thinking and feeling do we live a full life. ~From a letter to Diet Eman from Hein Sietsma

Eventually, it boils down to two choices _ do I wish to experience this physical reality primarily through joy or do I want to experience it through suffering? That__ all there is to it. And since each person eventually works their way toward the realization that conscious expansion can happen through joy rather than suffering _ enlightenment is a natural byproduct.

Belief is a wonderful way to pass the time until the facts come in.

As if sorrow is the true reality? Without ever putting his mind to it, he's come to believe that loss is the standard trajectory.

Crossing the limit is not my styleMy footsteps meander less than a mileI travel the world perhaps in a minuteYet a dream, to me, is never infinite!

Imagination envisions what could be. Reality states what is. And when my journey is shaped by one of these at the exclusion of the other, I will eventually wake up on some road facing the __eality_ that I__ far more lost than I could have __magined_.

The world you are in __s the true hell.The journey to Truth itselfIs what quickens the heart to become lighter.The lighter the heart, the purer it is.The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.And the heavier the heart,The more chained to this hellIt will remain.

The reality of loving God is loving him like he's a Superhero who actually saved you from stuff rather than a Santa Claus who merely gave you some stuff.

I suppose it__ not a social norm, and not a manly thing to do _ to feel, discuss feelings. So that__ what I__ giving the finger to. Social norms and stuff_what good are social norms, really? I think all they do is project a limited and harmful image of people. It thus impedes a broader social acceptance of what someone, or a group of people, might actually be like.

You gain inner peace when you become comfortable with the reality of death.

It's always your assumptions about you, about others, about future that make reality worse than it actually is.

The only thing set in stone are dumb quotes and names of dead people. Everything else is subject to change.

You should always listen to minotaurs. Anybody with four stomachs has to have a firm grip on reality.

Absolute trust in the reality of things begins to be shaken as the problem of truth enters upon the scene. The moment man ceases merely to live in and with reality and demands a knowledge of this reality, he moves into a new and fundamentally different relation to it. At first, to be sure, the question of truth seems to apply only to particular parts and not to the whole of reality. Within this whole different strata of validity begin to be marked off, reality seems to separate sharply from appearance. But it lies in the very nature of the problem of truth that once it arises it never comes to rest. The concept of truth conceals an immanent dialectic that drives it inexorably forward, forever extending its limits.