Take Time Out. It’s not a real vacation if you’re reading email or calling in for messages.
Ah! What avails the classic bent And what the cultured word, Against the undoctored incident That actually occurred? And what is Art whereto we press Through paint and prose and rhyme- When Nature in her nakedness Defeats us every time?
Just knowing that the world is round Here I’m dancing on the ground Am I right side up or upside down? Is this real or am I dreaming?
I’m not a real gadgety person. In fact, some people think that I’m kind of primitive.
The toughest nights when I was a young, unknown comedian were opening for these real old-time Italian singers. I’m like Grace Jones to them. “This guy is nuts-talking about socks. Where’s the wife jokes, where’s the fat jokes?”
The first real thought that I had of something that I might do was to write for car magazines, because I always had a car thing.
Photography is an austere and blazing poetry of the real.
It is, generally, in the season of prosperity that men discover their real temper, principles, and designs.
As mankind becomes more enlightened to know their real interests, they will esteem the value of agriculture; they will find it in their natural – their destined occupation.
It is in the relaxation of security; it is in the expansion of prosperity; it is in the hour of dilatation of the heart, and of its softening into festivity and pleasure, that the real character of men is discerned.
I am convinced that we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the real misfortunes and pain of others.
What is it we all seek for in an election? To answer its real purposes, you must first possess the means of knowing the fitness of your man; and then you must retain some hold upon him by personal obligation or dependence.
What is necessary is not to seek after some fantastic ideal, utterly unsuited to our real needs, but to discover the true nature of those needs, to fulfill them, and rejoice therein.
There’s the story, then there’s the real story, then there’s the story of how the story came to be told. Then there’s what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too.
History, as I recall, was never this winsome, and especially not this clean, but the real thing would never sell: most people prefer a past in which nothing smells.
What is the real breath of a man – the breathing out or the breathing in?
Not real can tell us about real.
Imagine a famine. Now imagine a piece of bread. Both of these things are real but you happen to be in the same room with only one of them. Put yourself into a different room, that’s what the mind is for.
A reader can never tell if it’s a real thimble or an imaginary thimble, because by the time you’re reading it, they’re the same. It’s a thimble. It’s in the book.
The real stars of society are tired of appearing there. He who is curious to gaze at them must often migrate to another hemisphere, where they are more or less alone.