A Quote by Salman Rushdie

Hell is other people's fantasies. — © Salman Rushdie
Hell is other people's fantasies.
The interesting thing is how one guy, through living out his own fantasies, is living out the fantasies of so many other people.
Our sexuality is affected by our fantasies. Some of these fantasies have their roots in our childhood. We have the power to control our thoughts but many people don't do it because they get pleasure in their fantasies.
Nothing goes on forever. I think that's one of the illusions of life. When I talk about my life being an extension of my dreams and fantasies, there's a tendency to think of them as immature. I live in a mature world. The majority of the people in this society live with delusions and illusions much more irrational and hurtful than mine. They deal with mortality, with fantasies relating to heaven and hell, and they don't really deal with their problems at all.
If ambitious fantasies make people blush, and sexual fantasies make people blush and feel guilty, fantasies of violence and death may make people blush and feel guilty-and frightened too.
People's fantasies are what give them problems. If you didn't have fantasies you wouldn't have problems because you'd just take whatever was there.
I am desperate for attention. But everyone else is too. Everyone has fantasies of fame and greatness. Life for most people is a process of shedding those fantasies.
Hell isn't other people. Hell is yourself.
Well, follow who you want to follow. It depends on what your fantasies are. You understand. People have different fantasies in life. The suburban culture. Always dream of being gangstas.
My 12 years in Los Angeles were hell! But I was sent to study hell and to learn as much from it as I could because there is no other place like hell for a full and complete education.
If war was hell and only hell and there were no other colors in the palate I don't think people would continue to make war.
So that is what hell is. I would never have believed it. You remember: the fire and brimstone, the torture. Ah! the farce. There is no need for torture: Hell is other people.
Very much as men project weird fantasies on women, the people in New York project weird fantasies on California.
I am not like other people. I am burning in hell. The hell of myself.
If your sexual fantasies were truly of interest to others, they would no longer be fantasies.
But learned people can analyze for me why I fear hell and their implication is that there is no hell. But I believe in hell. Hell seems a great deal more feasible to my weak mind than heaven. No doubt because hell is a more earth-seeming thing. I can fancy the tortures of the damned but I cannot imagine the disembodied souls hanging in a crystal for all eternity praising God.
I want to die, stripped, by myself, of all fantasies. That's the goal. I want to feel what is real, at the end, and only what is real. Grip fiercely with my eyes all that is around me--the people of my intimate life, the objects in the room, without the evasions of fantasies.
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