Reality can be beaten with enough imagination.

Let's just say I was testing the bounds of reality. I was curious to see what would happen. That's all it was: curiosity.

We are like actors, turned loose in this world to wander in search of a phantom, endlessly searching for a half-formed shadow of our lost reality. When others demand that we become the people they want us to be, they force us to destroy who we really are.

Late one night, on their way home, two men leaned over a bridge to gaze at the still waters of the river below. Suddenly, one of the men who had been drinking rather heavily said, "What's that down there?" "That's the moon," said his friend. The drunk looked again, shook his head in disbe0lief and said, "Okay, okay. But how the blazes did we get way up here?" We can smile at this poor fellow's misapprehension, but sober as we are, we ourselves rarely see reality. What we see is a reflection of it in the form of words and concepts which we then proceed to take for reality. The world we live in is mostly a mental construct.

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.

I feel not unlike a small boy, waking from a bad dream to find reality not much of an improvement.

All had vanished, and here she was, suffering tortures, woken wide awake to reality.

For a party makes things either much more real, or much less real.

It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.

The dignity of man lies in his ability to face reality in all its meaninglessness.

This reality can wound the soul.

It is not derived from, nor created, nor carried by anything except it's own reality.

Did that myth at the heart of all the fairy tales her mother had told her, that part about happily ever after, ever really work out that way? How many children around the galaxy had been given that pretty picture, had swallowed it entire, only to grow up and find that reality was not so simple, not so beautiful, not so easy? The story didn't end when the brave princess killed the wicked queen and rescued the prince. That, she was learning, was the easy part. The hard part came when the guns were cleaned and reholstered, the bodies of the villains cremated, and the day-to-day business of life reared its ugly cobra's head and grinned down at you. When your prince had doubts you couldn't answer for him, when you had doubts he could only shrug at, that, that was the hard part. That was the part the stories hadn't addressed.

Each of us wages a private battle each day between the grand fantasies we have for ourselves and what actually happens.

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

You're hurting me, dear. You mustn't look so worried. I've really done very well for myself, and I haven't been unhappy. I know I've lived a make-believe life, when I once wanted the world - I wanted everything to be real. Even suffering is real, you know, but they've taken that away from me, too.

Reality is messier than theory, but that's where we live.