#real

A brick could be used in place of a parachute, and a blanket could be used as a permanent wall of a house. In both cases, the skydiver and home dweller would ideally be a politician.
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— Jarod Kintz

#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny

A constant human error: to believe in an end to one's fantasies. Our daydreams are the measure of our unreachable truth. The secret of all things lies in the emptiness of the formula that guard them. ↗

— Floriano Martins

#fantasies #surrealism #dreams

Just a bullet a bag and a dream that's all I had now look at what I got ↗

— Saira Viola

#social-realism #topical #dreams

Better to end this dream before it becomes a nightmare. ↗

— Rachel Cohn

#life #love #nick-norah-s-infinite-playlist #nightmare #reality-check

Dreams are manifestation of the reality. ↗

— Santosh Kalwar

#inspirational #reality #dreams

Pinch me…I want to make sure this isn’t some wonderful reality. ↗

— Bauvard

#funny #humor #pinching #reality #dreams

Thou are my only reality-- all other people are but shadows to me: all events and actions, in which thou dost not mingle, are but dreams. ↗

— Nathaniel Hawthorne

#love #reality #dreams

Felix had gone to live in a lotus land of his imagination. Where what is desired is dreamed of as already happened, where obstacles dissolve under the weight of desire, and where reality has vanished entirely. ↗

— Iain Pears

#cloud-cuckoo-land #desires #dreams #futility #imagination

There either is or is not, that’s the way things are. The colour of the day. The way it felt to be a child. The saltwater on your sunburnt legs. Sometimes the water is yellow, sometimes it’s red. But what colour it may be in memory, depends on the day. I’m not going to tell you the story the way it happened. I’m going to tell it the way I remember it. ↗

— Mitch Glazer

#reality #storytelling #child

Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse. Solid flesh can never live up to the bright shadow cast by its absence. Time and distance blur the edges; then suddenly the beloved has arrived, and it's noon with its merciless light, and every spot and pore and wrinkle and bristle stands clear. ↗

— Margaret Atwood

#reality #return #memory