All illusion comes and goes, but the soul remains unchanged.
Art has a double face, of expression and illusion, just like science has a double face: the reality of error and the phantom of truth.
. . . Every single one of us goes through life depending on and bound by our individual knowledge and awareness. And we call it reality. However, both knowledge and awareness are equivocal. One's reality might be another's illusion. We all live inside our own fantasies, don't you think?
There are other relations besides reality, which the mind is capable of grasping and which also are primary, like chance, illusion, the fantastic, the dream.
I thought poetry could change everything, could change history and could humanize, and I think that the illusion is very necessary to push poets to be involved and to believe, but now I think that poetry changes only the poet.
There won't be emptiness. Emptiness is just another idea, another illusion.
If ever a painter wrought a miracle of illusion with brush and pigment that painter was Velazquez in his Las Meninas, at the Prado in Madrid.
. . . perhaps the hopes I have confessed to are of an illusory nature, too. But I hold fast to one distinction. Apart from the fact that no penalty is imposed for not sharing them, my illusions are not, like religious ones, incapable of correction.
Since fame is an illusion and death is in our future all we have is the next moment before we are swallowed into oblivion.
The revealed and mystic literature of mankind bears ample testimony to the fact that religious experience has been too enduring and dominant in the history of mankind to be rejected as mere illusion. There seems to be no reason, then, to accept the normal level of human experience as fact and reject its other levels as mystical and emotional.
Time is indeed the theater and seat of illusions; nothing is so ductile and elastic. The mind stretches an hour to a century, and dwarfs an age to an hour.
The common meaning of gratitude is to be thankful for benefits received. While this is important, I feel that the energy of gratitude is one of the most powerful attracting forces in the universe. A heart filled with Thanksgiving, even when appearances tell us that we are mired in scarcity, conflict, and affliction, moves us to a higher frequency in consciousness and we soon witness reality shining through the illusion.
The one thing that matters is the effort. It continues, whereas the end to be attained is but an illusion of the climber, as he fares on and on from crest to crest; and once the goal is reached it has no meaning.
Innumerable are the illusions and legerdemain-tricks of custom: but of all of these, perhaps the cleverest is her knack of persuading us that the miraculous, by simple repetition, ceases to be miraculous.
illusion throughout is illusion. There is no end to it, just as there is no end to imagination.
Progress is not an illusion, it happens, but it is slow and invariably disappointing.
This was no ordinary UFO. Scores of people saw it. It was no illusion, no deception, no imagination.
Life and death are illusions. We are in a constant state of transformation.
When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.
When I was in high school, we were all laboring under the illusion, or maybe it was a reality, that everyone in our school was a virgin.