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Quote by Dejan Stojanovic

“Our senses, cognition, and understanding are the result of conditioning. We are not the creators of our senses or our cognition and understanding in the deepest and fullest sense. Without our conditioning, there would be nothing. Senses, cognition, and understanding among human beings may differ only in degree, based on education or intellectual capacity, but not in mystical or mysterious ways.”

Quote by Dejan Stojanovic

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Dejan Stojanovic
Dejan Stojanovic

Dejan Stojanovic, born on March 11, 1959, is a Serbian poet known for his profound emotions and unique style in his poetry, which has won the hearts of readers worldwide. more

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“We can follow Plato and Kant and agree that the world of phenomena is an illusion and that noumenon is reality. Still, we must add that reality is lost or undermined without this illusion. In this way of reasoning, we conclude that although reality is the creator of an illusion in the form of an “artificial” reality or the world, this “illusion” is also the creator of the reality of the Being itself or the thing in itself. Both reality and illusion are equally important. Without the one, the other loses its meaning and purpose.”

“We may ask the question: What is reality? What is the real or objective reality? Finally, we may be surprised by the ultimate answer of reality: that the thing or reality is the illusion itself because the Ultimate Source, the Ultimate Reality, at its supreme point, is equal to Nothingness. That would mean that the Ultimate Reality is Nothingness. The Ultimate Source is the Ultimate Potential. Whether the actualization of this potential is reality or illusion is irrelevant. What is important is the existence and realization of the potential.”

“As she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream. The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by—the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool—she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock Turtle. So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs.”