Quotes About Nightmares

Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.

When push comes to shove, only one's own nightmares are of any interest or significance.

I had nightmares myself. Shall I describe on for you? No, I will not....When push comes to shove, only one's own nightmares are of any interest or significance. Last night I had a nightmare....You are of course fully in control of what you choose to read, and may pass over this dream of mine at will.

When push comes to shove, only one's own nightmares are of any interest or significance

Why do I always think and dream the most awful things and want to scream in terror?

These poor people are being shipped off to filthiy slaughterhouses like a herd of sick and neglected cattle. But I'll say no more on the subject. My own thoughts give me nightmares!

November 8th, 1943 At night in bed I see myself alone in a dungeon, without Father and Mother. Or I'm roaming the streets, or the Annex is on fire, or they come in the middle of the night to take us away and I crawl under my bed in desperation. I see everything as if it were actually taking place. And to think it might all happen soon! (**good metaphor use later on for English)

It is perhaps worth remembering that we are all, as a species, prey to dreams and nightmares. Our art is built upon the irrepressible stream of images rising from a secret fulcrum that can never be trusted. And though these images can delight and amaze, they can also paralyze and terrify. There are times when we are shamed by the most fleeting savage fancy.

I stayed against the back wall, as far away as I could get. Not just to stay away from the Plague Lady but to be farther away from the weird old dolls that lined the shelves of her office. Real-looking hair sprouted from their crumbling heads and all their faces were painted with smiles. Kids in the old days must have loved nightmares or something.

He tried to sleep, but his head was filled with the faces of lunatics, their palsied hands, their shattered eyes.

Your father wasn't a positive influence on you, was he? (Simone) Being the god of nightmares, he wasn't a warm fuzzy bunny. Unless you count Happy Bunny. Amazingly the two of them have a lot in common…And I have to say that I've developed a fondness for that pissy rodent. (Xypher)

I had no night terrors. Maybe when your real life becomes the terror, there's just nothing left to dream about

Therefore, it is not surprising that, since abductions are themselves powerful and disturbing experiences, they may frequently give rise to true nightmares or dreams that recreate in modified form the abduction experience, even during the same night that the abduction experience occurred

How terrible, those dreams before sleep were—the worse kind, mixing hope with despair...

War is personal, kid. You're surrounded by other soldiers, but you're fundamentally alone. Every combat soldier will tell you the same. You pull the trigger, and a man dies. You paint a tree with his brains or spill his guts out in the mud. The how of it don't signify, except in the nightmares, maybe, or what you see in the mirror first time you find the courage to look.

Sabes lo que experimenté después? Un miedo de lo más seductor. Esa sensación que le viene a uno cuando se da cuenta de que ha corrido un gran peligro. Esa clase de miedo que adquiere forma y se transfigura en las pesadillas.

A bad black horse steals Steals into my head And moves across the landscape Of my mind, while I sleep. He does what he likes in there. Next day I feel The damage. In the quiet mist I watch her go. It feels like snow. There's a feeling that I get. I walk back home Sad and slow.

You think you're fine. You think you get through it all right. And then you wake up sure the cold sweat on your face is blood, so real you can taste it.

Vincent, whom Kusanagi-Jones had managed to avoid for the duration of the voyage by first taking to cryo-damn the nightmares-and then restricting himself to the cramped comforts of his quarters…whom he could avoid no longer.

I dreamed, and they were the terrible dreams that I had been turning out for twenty ans.

I'd havenightmares of other islandsstretching away from mine, infinitiesof islands, islands spawning islandslike frogs' eggs turning into polliwogsof islands, knowing that I had to liveon each and every one, eventually,for ages, registering their flora,their fauna, their geography.

I've asked around and haven't found a B.A. yet who doesn't still have nightmares (and I don't speak figuratively) about not being able to find the room where the exam is to be given or about realizing at the last moment that he has not once attended the course.

Ray has never come out and said it, but I know from years of listening to him dream that his mother did to him what he does to me. Held him down, rubbed him raw, broke him open. In them, he cries and begs her not to touch him, that he doesn't want to go inside her, that he is a good boy, he really is. I let Ray have his nightmares, watch him thrash and listen to his voice squeak with fear. I lie there and watch him and wish he was trapped back there, with her and had never broken free.

That happens in hotel rooms, people have bad dreams.