Quotes About Nightmares

I'm the son of two Holocaust survivors. As a child, I heard from one of my parents' best friends about living through Mengele's infamous selection process at Auschwitz. He haunted my nightmares.

It was my opinion (then and now) that two people who love each other need not necessarily have the same dreams and aspirations, but they damn well ought to share the same nightmares.

My days and nights were one long, quiet, continuously contained dream of teror, tension, and anxiety. I wondered how long I could bear it.

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

Me? I slept like the dead, which I hoped wasn't a sign of things to come.

I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if I were on the verge of death-plankton maybe. -Percy Jackson

Angst. Fear. Stark, gut-twisting terror. It didn't make for an easy sleep.

Even nightmares have to sleep now and then.

When Philip relived that day in his nightmares, and woke up sweating and screaming in the dark, he would always be able to calm himself, and eventually relax into sleep again, by bringing to mind that final tableau, and the way the screaming and the wounds had been swept aside by the unarmed man with the cross.

Therapy is like telling your nightmares when you're a kid; they lose their power to hurt and control.

Then perhaps you shouldn't sleep. The imagination has terrifying power.

My father thrives on fear. You know that prayer If I should die before I wake? I had sheets that said that!

O! then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you!…She is the fairies' midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate-stoneOn the forefinger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of little atomiesAthwart men's noses as they lie asleep.

I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.

I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.

Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. That pain is like an axe that chops at my heart.

O Christ, Son of the Living God, May Your holy angels guard our sleep. May they watch over us as we rest And hover around our beds. . . . May no dreams disturb our rest And no nightmares darken our dreams. . . . May the virtue of our daily work Hallow our nightly prayers. May our sleep be deep and soft, So our work be fresh and hard. Amen. —PATRICK OF IRELAND (c. 387–c. 460)

all the king's doctors and all the king's pills couldn't make Frank's waking nightmares go away.

if you have returned then either its a deception or its a dream...from now no nightmares onwards.

if you have returned in my life then either its a deception or its a dream...from now no nightmares onwards

If nightmares can come true, and sometimes they do... then so can our happiest dreams.

I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.

My Manager forced me to put my beetle in my own ear, a clear waste and an act that gave me nightmares: of a burning city through which giant carnivorous lizards prowled, eating survivors off of balconies. In one particularly vivid moment, I stood on a ledge as the jaws closed in, heat-swept, and tinged with the smell of rotting flesh. Beetles intended for the tough, tight minds of children should not be used by adults. We still remember a kinder, gentler world.

A RIPE EXPERIENCE OF GERMAN pillows in country places leads me to urge the intending traveller to be sure to take his own. The native pillows are mere bags, in which feathers may have been once. There is no substance in them at all. They are of a horrid flabbiness. And they have, of course, the common drawback of all public pillows, they are haunted by the nightmares of other people. A pillow, it is true, takes up a great deal of room in one's luggage, but