Life's tempering and altering process often takes the form of adversity, and, as far as outward appearances are concerned, seems to be working against us when it is actually working for us.
For the record, I'm not an indecisive person, and I'm not a coward. I just have a very detailed imaginary life, and it sometimes takes precedence over what's actually happening around me.
I’m a fake fact factory. The things I make are the things I make up. Also, as a side business, I make love. Actually, I just made that up.
I wasn't fooled. He was avoiding looking at me. "There's nothing to talk about." "I knew you'd say that. Actually, it was a toss-up between that and 'I don't know what you're talking about.'" Dimitri sighed.
Are we going to New Orleans?" "No", she said, backing out of the spot. "We're going to West Virginia." "I assume by 'West Virginia,' you actually mean 'Hawaii,'" I said. "Or some place equally exciting.
The way you react to challenging situations will say a lot about you. Actually, it will make or break your business.
How remarkable we are in our ability to hide things from ourselves - our conscious minds only a small portion of our actual minds, jellyfish floating on a vast dark sea of knowing and deciding.
Cannot it actually be that in a wildly literal sense, unacceptable to one's reason, he meant disappearing in his art, dissolving in his verse, thus leaving of himself, of his nebulous person, nothing but verse?
I'm just capable of entertaining the fantastic idea that, in certain circumstances, might actually be capable of thinking. It must be worth a go, since we've tried everything else.
The opposite of love is not hate. Hate is just love gone bad. The actual opposite of love is apathy. When you don't care a damn as to what happens to the other person.
In the perfect Capitalist State there would be no food available for the non-owner save when he was actually engaged in Production, and that absurdity would, by quickly ending all human lives save those of the owners, put a term to the arrangement.
They say it's a dangerous experiment to include dreams (actual dreams or otherwise) in the fiction you write. Only a handful of writers - and I'm talking the most talented - are able to pull off the irrational synthesis you find in dreams.
I am a runner. Not an actual runner, like with shoes and sweat. Instead, I specialize in leaving uncomfortable situations with alarming speed. Some people need closure, I need space.
Do real boys actually call girls baby? I don't have enough experience to know. I do know that if a guy ever called me baby, I'd probably laugh in his face. Or choke him.
There is no easy way to do a deadlift—not involving actually picking up the bar—which explains their lack of popularity in gyms around the world.
I kept returning to this new and bizarre question: is there anything that actually is as it seems? Is anything perceptually straightforward? Maybe that’s inherently impossible, because impressions are, by their very nature, cumulative – the sum o...
The actual language of life is not the charts and graphs and stuff we map out to feel smart. The hidden language we are speaking is really about negotiating the feeling God used to give us.
Conundrum: A fun word to repeat over and over again when no one's listening; actual meaning is as puzzling as the need to chant the word.
We urgently need to do - and I mean actually do - something radical to avert a global catastrophe. But I don't think we will. I think we're fucked.
The tales of Elfland do not stand or fall on their actuality but on their truthfulness, their speaking to the human condition, the longings we all have for the Faerie Other.
When enough insane people scream in harmony that they really are healthy, they can actually start to believe themselves. Or put even more simply: people with overlapping delusions get along wonderfully.
