Jimmy Looks Twice: We choose the right to be who we are. We know the difference between the reality of freedom and the illusion of freedom. There is a way to live with the earth and a way not to live with the earth. We choose the way of earth. It's about power, Ray.
Fluffy Thing #2: What's animation? Fluffy Thing #1: Animation is the frame-by-frame photographic process in which the illusion of movement is created, and anything is possible in animation, all for the enjoyment of the viewing audience. And through the illusion of animation movement, all thanks to the magic of animation. Fluffy Thing #2: You mean people are watching us right now? Fluffy Thing #1: Right now! [smiles] Fluffy Thing #1: [pause] Fluffy Thing #2: But I'm not wearing any pants. Fluffy Thing #1: [still smiling, exited] Me neither!
Merovingian: Choice is an illusion created between those with power and those without.
Doris: It's tradition. Harry Block: Tradition is the illusion of permanence.
[aftergetting high, Sean starts to think] Sean Bateman: I need to get some more pot. I'm running out. Then I need to get laid. Where the fuck was Lauren tonight? That Lara girl was kind of hot. I could bang her and feel good about it. But I'd rather have Lauren. I wonder why? It would just ruin my illusion of her purity. Whoa, is that really what I want? [pause] Sean Bateman: I need to get laid. [sniffs] Sean Bateman: Then I need to get more pot.
Woman: The illusion of effortlessness requires a great effort indeed.
[first lines] Arthur Edens: Michael. Dear Michael. Of course it's you, who else could they send, who else could be trusted? I... I know it's a long way and you're ready to go to work... all I'm saying is wait, just wait, just-just-just... please hear me out because this is not an episode, relapse, fuck-up, it's... I'm begging you Michael. I'm begging you. Try and make believe this is not just madness because this is not just madness. Two weeks ago I came out of the building, okay, I'm running across Sixth Avenue, there's a car waiting, I got exactly 38 minutes to get to the airport and I'm dictating. There's this, this panicked associate sprinting along beside me, scribbling in a notepad, and suddenly she starts screaming, and I realize we're standing in the middle of the street, the light's changed, there's this wall of traffic, serious traffic speeding towards us, and I... I-I freeze, I can't move, and I'm suddenly consumed with the overwhelming sensation that I'm covered with some sort of film. It's in my hair, my face... it's like a glaze... like a... a coating, and... at first I thought, oh my god, I know what this is, this is some sort of amniotic - embryonic - fluid. I'm drenched in afterbirth, I've-I've breached the chrysalis, I've been reborn. But then the traffic, the stampede, the cars, the trucks, the horns, the screaming and I'm thinking no-no-no-no, reset, this is not rebirth, this is some kind of giddy illusion of renewal that happens in the final moment before death. And then I realize no-no-no, this is completely wrong because I look back at the building and I had the most stunning moment of clarity. I... I... I... I realized Michael, that I had emerged not from the doors of Kenner, Bach, and Ledeen, not through the portals of our vast and powerful law firm, but from the asshole of an organism whose sole function is to excrete the... the-the-the poison, the ammo, the defoliant necessary for other, larger, more powerful organisms to destroy the miracle of humanity. And that I had been coated in this patina of shit for the best part of my life. The stench of it and the stain of it would in all likelihood take the rest of my life to undo. And you know what I did? I took a deep cleansing breath and I set that notion aside. I tabled it. I said to myself as clear as this may be, as potent a feeling as this is, as true a thing as I believe that I have witnessed today, it must wait. It must stand the test of time. And Michael, the time is now.
Barnaby Pierce: I want to dispel one illusion in case you seriously have it: nobody suddenly sings like Pavarotti, not even Pavarotti
Montag the Magnificent: Eyes front. You cannot move. You cannot even know if you are really here. One of magic's many beauties is that the illusion can begin long before the audience even knows it is going to be tricked. Trick. A word with so many meanings. You fake your own reality. You, the things that you believe about yourself. Delusions. The things that you tell yourself. Lies. Are you ready for the truth?
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