I’ve been alone with my thoughts for too long; I’m starting to feel unreal.

Oh God just look at me now… one night opens words and utters pain… I cannot begin to explain to you… this… I am not here. This is not happening. Oh wait, it is, isn’t...

Acting, at least for me, is very unreal, and when I’m doing it, I actually feel embarrassed.

I had a curious feeling that I was living on several planes simultaneously; the overlapping of these planes was confusing.

Work on what is real rather than worry about what is unreal.

She herself did not seem quite real. She was pale and almost transparent, the victim I used for my own enjoyment in dreams.

I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother’s death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her...

My ideas were confused. In a peculiar way, the unreality of the outer world appeared to be an extension of my own disturbed state of mind.

Nothing is unreal as long as you can imagine like a crow

Why did I allow the abuse to continue? Even as a teenager?I didn’t. Something that had been plaguing me for years now made sense. It was like the answer to a terrible secret. The thing...

Time isn’t real. It isn’t even unreal.

During this hour in the waking streets I felt at ease, at peace; my body, which I despised, operated like a machine. I was spaced out, the catchphrase my friends at school used to describe...

Knowledge is not obtained through being absorbed in a book, it comes when you brush aside fantasies and sensuality, switching from the unreal to the real.

Maybe I made it up.”p55

When the reality looks extraordinarily unreal, you must know that you are in an extraordinarily beautiful place!

Fiction is written with reality and reality is written with fiction. We can write fiction because there is reality and we can write reality because there is fiction; everything we consider today to be myth...

I push against the tree and run away, stumbling, the unreal night playing with me, gravity pulling from below, behind, above, making me fall. And I run through a world that is rotating, conscious of...

Jesus was a penniless teacher who wandered about the dusty sun-bit country of Judea, living upon casual gifts of food; yet he is always represented clean, combed, and sleek, in spotless raiment, erect, and with...

You stand a better chance of bringing pretend to life through the power of belief than you stand any chance of erasing what’s real by refusing to believe.

It’s not unreal to me yet, though it might get that way soon. It still feels very real. And not even horrible — the dead are just the dead. I am convinced that the living...

Gentlemen can now only behave as such, or be tolerated as such, in circumstances that are manifestly contrived or unreal.

It’s funny when people say something is “unreal” about something that is, in reality, real. I’m so guilty of it, it’s real!