Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Mirages. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Mirages Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Samuel Garth,George H. W. Bush,Joseph Joubert,Yasmin Mogahed,Suzanne Collins for you to enjoy and share.
As distant prospects please us, but when near We find but desert rocks and fleeting air
Thousand points of light.
Our ideals, like pictures, are made from lights and shadows.
The traveler walks through many mirages before he finds water.
nook in the rocks. From this place, we are invisible but have a clear
This is where the disillusioned gathered to look for new illusions
In some lights they were hardly there at all, just visible as a drifting quality in the light, a rhythmic evanescence, like veils of transparency turning before a mirror.
What's life except for a palpable illusion?
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.
Dreaming: the phantom of self-illusion emanating visions that change every night
Living: the phantom of universal self-illusion emanating the huge vision of the world that takes millenniums to change
One should see that all appearance is like mist and fog.
When you are painting a landscape, assume the painting is real and the landscape is an illusion.
Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder.
So we recast the wisdom of the great thinkers in the shape of our illusions. They are shiny from their makeovers, they are fabulous and gorgeous, and they want us to know that we can have it all.
Clouds of confusion
rolled into illusion
He veils perversion
forcing her coercion
Her body he takes
while she flies away
unbelievable, she's invisible
The more you think about illusions, the more they'll swell up and take on form. And no longer be an illusion.
Hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon.
Anyone who has chanced like me to roam through desolate mountains and studied at length their fantastic shapes and drunk the invigorating air of their valleys can understand why I wish to describe and depict these magic scenes for others.
Why should you believe your eyes? You were given eyes to see with, not to believe with. Your eyes can see the mirage, the hallucination as easily as the actual scenery.
We all move on the fringes of eternity and are sometimes granted vistas through fabric of illusion.
Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that we live, if we do.
Moving islands in the ocean of sky.
Beautiful white curtains in the sky,
Veiling and unveiling portions, as time passes by.
I watch clouds, when my mind feels clouded.
In the presence of randomness, regular patterns can only be mirages.
The causes of illusions are not pretty to discover. They're either vicious or tragic.
I saw the lake of Hali, thin and blank, without a ripple or wind to stir it, and I saw the towers of Carcosa behind the moon. Aldebaran, the Hyades, Alar, Hastur, glided through the cloud-rifts which fluttered and flapped as they passed like the scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow.
The fog between the trees of ghosts who lift suns.
All art is a vision penetrating the illusions of reality, and photography is one form of this vision and revelation.
The hillside before them blurred, as if a curtain of wind-blown sand rose before it. A churning wind roiled through this strange mist.
What see you in the horizon's bruised smear
That cannot be blotted out
By your raised hand?
The fog of illusion, the fog of confusion is hanging all over the world.
It is quite possible we may have formed entirely erroneous ideas of what we actually see. The greenish gray patches may not be seas at all, nor the ruddy continents, solid land. Neither may the obscuring patches be clouds of vapor.
They come out of nowhere, instantaneously materialize and just as quickly they break and vanish. Chasing after such fleeting mirages is a complete waste of time. That is what I choose to do with my life.
It is important to understand that all of us are all either consciously or unconsciously co-creating the illusions of the physical reality. We often are unaware of our co-creating ability and frequently create parts of the physical reality by default unconsciously.
The most dangerous thing is illusion.
What Albert Einstein termed optical delusion,
The Indians termed Maya or Illusion.
chased by the shadows of clouds.
Illusion - or rather appearance, semblance - is the theme of my life (could be theme of speech welcoming freshmen to the Academy). All that is, seems, and is visible to us because we perceive it by the reflected light of semblance. Nothing else is visible.
Where imaginary mole hills turn into hallucinatory mountains
With the illusion stripped away, I could see that we were part of an ocean of light. We are light flowing, moving, and transmuting shape similarly to the way that water morphs into steam and ice and snow.
To convulse reality from within, to demonstrate it as fractured spacing, became the collective result of all that vast range of techniques to which surrealist photographers resorted and which they understood as producing the characteristics of the sign.
Life in illusion is in a transient belief on insight without perspective
Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!
There is no more dangerous illusion than the fancies by which people try to avoid illusion.
The bottom of a lake we cannot see, because its surface is covered with ripples. It is only possible for us to catch a glimpse of the bottom, when the ripples have subsided, and the water is calm.
What delights us in visible beauty is the invisible.
Clear moments are so short.
There is much more darkness. More
ocean than terra firma. More
shadow than form.
Many is the mirage I chased. Always I was overreaching myself. The oftener I touched reality, the harder I bounced back to the world of illusion, which is the name for everyday life.
The horizon is more than a convention of landscape painting, less than truth.
Hope, objects in mirror than they appear.
Where most people live, most of us, imagining it to be the real sunlit world when it is only a cave lit by the flickering fires of illusion.
The Magic of Reality, aimed
The sun, sides bulging, squashed itself between two hills. It sent up a flare of golden light. The sky, patterned with a million tiny clouds like fish scales was illuminated.
There are some sights that, once seen, can never be unseen. They replay themselves on a loop in your mind's home-theatre system with Dolby surround sound until you're so desperate to be rid of them that you'll resort to other loops simply to dislodge them for a while.
The horizon was shitting a sun, casting a glow on a layer of fog that was settling in the low areas like puddles of ghost piss.
The earth is a mosaic, and most fail to notice the gossamer tesserae floating down from the realm of the mind that form its images of beauty and horror.
Clouds veiled the mountains,
The clarity of perception
makes reality look as it is.
I keep my eyes fixed on those silhouettes in the distance and all I can think is how could we lost the world to something so still?
Whether it's a house or the stars or the desert, what makes them beautiful is invisible.
The skies and land are so enormous, and the detail so precise and exquisite that wherever you are you are isolated in a glowing world between the macro and the micro.
Invisible things are the only realities.
Torrent of light and river of air,
Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen,
Like gold and silver sands in some ravine
Where mountain streams have left their channels bare!
All unique and unrepeatable, like cloud-shadows on mountains or flames in a fire.
I could never explain how the image and the reality merge, and how they somehow extend and beautify each other.
When I consider how, after sunset, the stars come out gradually in troops from behind the hills and woods, I confess that I could not have contrived a more curious and inspiring sight.
Reality has become a parallel universe with photographers returning with different versions of what it truly looks like.
The visible is only the shoreline of the magnificent ocean of the invisible.
A grey wrinkled vastness, like the residue of a dream
A perfectly clear photograph is a distortion of reality.
Saw everything larger than life size, with the outlines blurred, in a golden mist of sentimentality.
The map had been the first form of misdirection, for what is a map but a way of emphasizing some things and making other things invisible?
... there are shadows because there are hills.
When night falls over Washington, D.C., memorials, public buildings, and broad avenues become ethereal shapes in soft light and shadow. Floodlights, piercing the darkness, etch familiar landmarks in silver against a velvet sky. Unsuspected definition of form and contour is revealed.
Only after I've seen the visible can I imagine what the invisible is.
The pictorial battlefield becomes a sea of mud mercifully veiled by the fog of war.
This landscape is animate: it moves, transposes, builds, proceeds, shifts, always going on, never coming back, and one can only retain it in vignettes, impressions caught in a flash, flipped through in succession, leaving a richness of images imprinted on a sunburned retina.
Shadows of deserts are as beautiful as the shining lights on the surface of oceans!
Landscapes we must owe something to the eye of the beholder.
We see the surface, blue or silver or gray, and waves hitting the shore. But we know there's so much we can't see, so what we love about it becomes in part what we imagine it is hiding.
In the flailing light they all looked sharp-edged and ethereal and divided by great distances
Sunsets.
The illusion either above the horizon or below it.
When day and night are linked in a way that cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time.
I saw in a blue haze all the world poured flat and pale between the mountains
Mountains and oceans have whole worlds of innumerable wondrous features. We should understand that it is not only our distant surroundings that are like this, but even what is right here, even a single drop of water.
Little flashes of sun on the surface of a cold, dark sea.
...and i will step out of the mirage, into your arms, to lose myself and find myself inside you.
Our sweet illusions are half of them conscious illusions, like effects of colour that we know to be made up of tinsel, broken glass and rags.
Illusions ... are simple facts, but they have been created by the mind, by the spirit, and they are one of the justifications of the new spatial configuration.
I see an ocean that's spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.
Those are cumulus clouds. Did you know that?"
"I'm sure I should."
"They're the best ones."
"How come?"
"Because they look the way clouds are supposed to look, the way you draw them when you're a kid. Which is nice, you know? I mean, the sun never looks the way you drew it.
A rapid rendering of a landscape represents only one moment of its existence. I prefer, by insisting upon its essential character, to risk losing charm in order to gain greater stability.
Always lines, never forms! But where do they find these lines in Nature? For my part I see only forms that are lit up and forms that are not. There is only light and shadow.
Draw outside the lines! Make the sky purple instead of blue! That's what it looks like to dreamers!
There are high places that don't invite us, sharp shapes, glacier-scraped faces, whole ranges whose given names slip off. Any such relation as we try to make refuses to take ... I'm giddy with thinking where thinking can't stick.
No Names
Light and air - what means wherewith to conjure up illusions and deceive the senses!
And in the bloodlit dark behind his eyes, silver phosphenes boiled in from the edge of space, hypnagogic images jerking past like a film compiled of random frames. Symbols, figures, faces, a blurred, fragmented mandala of visual information.
I think illusion is one of the most interesting things that I've found to think about. Just look at yesterday, and what you were doing, and how important it was, and how nonexistent it is now! How dreamlike it is! Same thing with tomorrow. So where are we living?
Places of the imagination are visited in books. Seen in reality they may be hard to recognize; they are disappointing, they might even seem fake.
In the land of wisdom, there is no fog in the air, no haze, no blur, no mirage, no smoke; all is seen plainly; the vision is very clean!
Rocks are space, and space is illusion.
Through the power of art imaginary landscapes turn into real ones.