Quotes about surreal

What is infinity? I haven’t a clue.But maybe that’s the whole point I’ve been attempting to explain to you.The fact that it’s not knownOr seenOr heard.Infinity is every person, every being, every bird. Infinity is a simple mystery.It looks like a mystery.Tastes mysterious.Feels like something completely delirious. We cannot imagine what this sound could be.All we can imagine is infinity.

In the most surreal, the most joyful, the most beautiful, the most intense, the most alive moments of life, you are absorbed into the horizon which is at its most invisible, elusive, perfect blend of sky and sea.

What bothers me most about my teeth is that they don’t travel loin south, don’t sprout from the Mother Mouth. Vagina dentata, come closah, say high.

I love the smell of old books,” Mandy sighed, inhaling deeply with the book pressed against her face. The yellow pages smelled of wood and paper mills and mothballs.

If opportunity knocks, let it in. But with the way things are nowadays-I'd rather meet opportunity somewhere that's more public. I could meet opportunity in a coffee shop, but what if it works there? Well, I could suggest my grandma's basement.-James Lee Schmidt and Jarod Kintz

This girl who's slept a hundred years has something after all. It's called Centuryitis, and it has turned me into a man. Oh, what will mamma think when she sees me?!-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

Dreams are memories. Memories are dreams. But my time with you hasn’t become a dream just yet. Because the sensation of your kisses keep me from sleep. I’m in love, God help me, I’m in love.

In Newcastle, Kurt announced from the stage, “I am a homosexual, I am a drug user, and I fuck pot-bellied pigs,” another classic Cobainism, though only one of his three claims was true.

Silence. How long it lasted, I couldn't tell. It might have been five seconds, it might have been a minute. Time wasn't fixed. It wavered, stretched, shrank. Or was it me that wavered, stretched, and shrank in the silence? I was warped in the folds of time, like a reflection in a fun house mirror.

I bought salvation from a man on the street. He said, "Go down to the beach and let the waves wash your feet.

As an evil cultist, I make an excellent evil cultist. Only I'm stupid, and not evil. And I worship nothing, really.

It was like a bomb had just gone off in the kitchen, and instead of cleaning up the rubble, people were stepping around it and eating mini-quiche.

It began with the Christmas tree lights. They were candy-bright, mouth-size. She wanted to feel the lightness of them on her tongue, the spark on her tastebuds. Without him life was so dark, and all the holiday debris only made it worse. She promised herself she wouldn't bite down.

The digital sunset always looks better than the real thing, always. Because a sunset generated by the basic package of yellow sun and blue sky is unreliable. Today it may be stunning, hypnotic. Tomorrow it may be lifeless and dull, a white sky scorched with yellow. Tomorrow the sky will be velvet.

To his shock, as Saarang turned the first page, the words slowly transformed into small cylinders, except for one-letter words which preferred being spheres, and started rolling toward the vertical edges of the book.

It's super cloudy right now but I think I can see the northern lights from my room. Another observation: Every light is a strobe light, if you just blink fast enough, and drink enough vodka.-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

A lost bird appeared in the court and was half an hour jumping around between the spikenard. It sang a progressive note, rising an octave at a time, until it became so acute that it was necessary to imagine it.

I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.

She is brave and strong and broken all at once. As she speaks it is as if her existence is no longer real to her in itself, more like a living epitaph to a life that was.

I squared my shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that I was standing in the apartment of the sea witch, wearing a fairy-tale prom gown, waiting for the attack of the mermaids.

Try this." O'Grady smiled. "It's the only thing we drink. It'll warm your insides." "What is it?" Asked the ever cautious Waldo. "We call it the Forest Flaming Special. Go ahead-drink up." "Well, okay...." Waldo lifted the cup and nearly dropped it when saw his name printed clearly on the side. "We've been expecting you." Explained Fred, beginning to laugh.

Certain voices heardare heardnot becausethey are phonetic...But,from one soulthey head,to another,in the form of magic.(Poem: When, When a not, Book: Ginger and Honey)

Nothing Is Strange

isn't that dangerous?" I objected. "What if somebody used it on people - what if they put it on replace and turned us all into fictional characters?""How do you know they haven't?" asked Marc.

I am here because I have to be here, as here I am supposed to be! All things should be, and usually are, found in their rightful places. Can you imagine how chaotic the world would be if nothing was in its correct place?

Bunnu was no amateur when it came to escape. And even in his drowsiest moments, he understood implicitly that to forget his circumstances, even for a short while, meant first to forget himself. Who he was and why he was—to strip it all bare and start from scratch, as it were. In his nearly 250 years of life and, now, as an old emaciated man completely estranged from his family and closest friends—albeit more by circumstance than by choice—he understood the importance of this process and revered

I dreamt that ‪@mark_wahlberg‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬ and his wife were our neighbors and we had dance parties in our living room and drank wine from solo cups. Everyone said I danced like I was doing parkour, and everyone laughed, until I fell off the roof and broke my neck.-Crystal Woods and Jarod Kintz

His eyesight was possessed by the colours of trauma, cracking and bubbling like an old Super Eight film to remind him of his near-death drowning some two months ago in that very moment when he needed to act.

Mandy loved the smell of a sunny day after a night of rain. The sun hit the orange puddles, the overgrown, soft, green grass on her lawn, and it beamed down through the orange steel mill smog, sending otherworldly, bizarre shadows across the concrete sidewalk.

That tank," Bucktooth pointed at the gas gauge on the dashboard of the decidedly unfredneck-like '65 Dodge Dart, "is almost empty. We ain't going much farther." "Indeed it is." A solemn Phosphate agreed. "I suggest we stop the car and weigh our options." "What options?" Professor Buckley asked. "Why do-that is- we've been traveling up and down this path for over an hour without seeing anyone or encountering anything. Even the doughnut shop cannot be relocated. In light of this, what options do w

Linear’s defeated form The intangible reality rise.'' ~ Wanderer

In most respects a pretty standard student domicile, there was something very unnerving about the apartment, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Eventually I realized: the light in the bathroom never turns off.

Sitting on the floor, I'd replay the past in my head. Funny, that's all I did, day after day after day for half a year, and I never tired of it. What I'd been through seemed so vast, with so many facets. Vast, but real, very real, which was why the experience persisted in towering before me, like a monument lit up at night. And the thing was, it was a monument to me.

Of all the skills necessary for her work, what she was perhaps worst at was being polite to inanimate things.

I really hate that I need my glasses while using my laptop. What I hate even more is that I need those glasses to be full of vodka at all times.-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

She used to be all right, Una, when we were kids. I liked that she wasn't fussed about her antlers.

Walking out of the office, her nervous fingers made an ear out of the tissue in her pocket – luckily the thin sheets wouldn't hold the shape, and unfurled as she threw it on the pavement. On the journey home, her bus ticket became a tongue.

People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it."Yuki leaned against the car door. "But that's real hard, isn't it?" she said."Real hard," I said. "But it's worth trying for.

The Greenland fjords are peculiar for the spells of completely quiet weather, when there is not enough wind to blow out a match and the water is like a sheet of glass. The kayak hunter must sit in his boat without stirring a finger so as not to scare the shy seals away. Actually, he can only move his eyes, as even the slightest move otherwise might mean game lost. The sun, low in the sky, sends a glare into his eyes, and the landscape around moves into the realm of the unreal. The reflex from th

Wasn't much of a life anyway. Wasn't much of a brain.""But didn't you say you were satisfied with your life?""Word games," I dismissed. "Every army needs a flag.

If you don't fall down now and again, it just means the training wheels are working

Run. Flee. Fuck off. Vanish from my presence and take the foul stench of your sordid secret with you.

Next door to the Bensons is Emmet Frag, a retired pacemaker who is credited with inventing the notion of happiness. He’s currently working on a method for categorising ducks based on their singing voice. He’s also the owner of the world’s largest collection of tenor geese.

St John had always been a fan of the RS Turbo, mainly due to the colour coded rear spoiler and air vents in the bonnet, which distinguished it from the more common and less powerful XR3i.

He had also spent a day and a half without sleep trying to start an online petition to bring back the advert for Nationwide Building Society which said Dunroamin, twice, but half the through the second day of the campaign he had realised that it was an anachronism and the internet was about fourteen years away from mass consumption, so he stopped and went to sleep.

Oh yeah, well I suddenly realises that she’d only been with my boyfriend at the Co-op Christmas do when I were eighteen. So I grabs her head and I stuck it through a display of them Muller’s rices and I told her. That’s for shagging Kevin Cooper you stupid fucking cunt.

Had the facial plumage been of a paler hue it would have looked like a pile of horse crap on a winter’s day.

This particular event had been somewhat more raucous than usual as Derek Jameson had just lost an arm wrestle with Ann Diamond. The match was the second semi-final of the morning after Belinda Carlisle had been pipped at the post by Rusty Lee. Carlisle had caused some consternation after, upset at losing and forfeiting the chance to compete for the first prize of a quarter of midget gems, she had spat port in Lee’s handbag. Carlisle had been asked to leave and, after a brief tussle, had been eje

Eunice had deposited St John upon the balcony of the first-floor apartment of former Liberal MP, The Rt. Hon. Leonard Cossins, the disgraced Lord Mayor of Mitchell-Baines who had been removed from office having been caught administering counterfeit buttercup syrup to the local yeomanry whilst on a hunting trip to Stoke-Poges.

Beetroot Cossins had moved to Kuala Lumpur where she had died of lethargy and pie.

Her protestations were drowned out by the sound of Gordon Honeycomb barfing up aftershock into the kitchenette sink.

I once went to one of his Virgin Vie parties and had a really good time watching Chas having a paddy whilst trying to put on Dave’s socks, before realising that he only had two feet, compared to Dave’s three.

There was Arctic John, a businessman from Salisbury who doesn’t hold water, Bruce Knott, a social worker from Cumberland who spends his lunch hour picking his bum, and Judith Glycerine, the reformation pig.

Tobak Davenport, who is a cross between some Sugar Puffs and Lynn Faulds-Wood, was squatting there before being removed by the local constabulary after he went round to complain about Luther Blisset’s pet turkey fouling the communal herb garden.

You little prick. It's a whelk...it's a...it's a...dead whelk!

A huge meringue with polio who drives everywhere in a beautifully restored Hillman Imp.

Next door but one is Quinlan Broddle, a Viceroy with a fear of gardens. So much so that he sold his garden to Virgin Atlantic and his erstwhile front lawn is now a runway where miniature helicopters and packets of crisps undertake sorties to 1940’s Dresden where they have made several dozen unsuccessful attempts to rescue the Quaker Oats man, who is being held captive by the SS on the basis that his hair looks like ice cream.

On the other side of St John’s house is a fake egg timer who can’t maintain an erection. He shares the property with a glossy beef burger called Tom, who has been painted by a seven year old magistrate in order to be entered for this year’s Miss East Lancashire competition. Next door to them is a Dundee cake with a lisp.

Your toaster’s a puff.

...his knees were held together by the skin-tight trousers, which consequently narrowed the aperture through which great quantities of malodorous, rancid dreck were shortly to emerge with great force. St John knew that this was likely to prove troublesome. Although his mid-morning bab was usually undertaken in a more perfunctory manner, he would still have been mindful enough to ensure that his trousers were well below the knee before he commenced the disagreeable act, but in his current predica

St John had been sitting in the back garden twizzling a pencil, on the end of which a russet deposit was impaled, which had been left on the lawn by Marmaduke, next door’s ginger cat. His father had wandered in to the garden and seen St John mesmerised by the twirling mahogany baton. “What are you doing son?” he asked.“Toasting a witch”, St John replied.

What have you got in there you little bastard?

There is a fissure in my vision and madness will always rush through.

I walked into my own book, seeking peace.It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

A Harvey Nicks chick with throwaway morals and a trustfund appetite.

When you're reaching the end of the semester and you just wanna die. Coffin Making 101 is literally killing me.-Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

When the north wind blew across the tar ponds, voices were carried away.