Quotes About Dreams

our heads were full of nebulous ideas, which cast an idealized, almost romantic glow over life

Summer of 1918 - Never has life in its niggardliness seemed to us so desirable as now; - the red poppies in the meadows round our billets, the smooth beetles on the blades of grass, the warm evenings in the cool, dim rooms, the black mysterious trees of the twilight, the stars and the flowing waters, dreams, and long sleep - O Life, life, life!

Non può essere del tutto scomparsa, quella tenerezza che ci turbava il sangue, quell'incertezza, quell'inquietudine di ciò che doveva giungere, i mille volti dell'avvenire, la melodia dei sogni e dei libri, il fruscio lontano, il presentimento della donna: non può essere scomparso tutto questo sotto il fuoco tambureggiante, nella disperazione, nei bordelli di truppa.

It cannot be that it has gone, the yearning that made our blood unquiet, the unknown, the perplexing, the incoming things, the thousand faces of the future, the melodies from dreams and from books, the whispers and divination of women; it cannot be that this has vanished in bombardment, in despair, in brothels.

Oricât de mult s-ar avânta fericirea noastr? spre stele È™i soare , cu oricât? beautitudine ne-am în?lÈ›a mâinele, la un moment dat fericirea È™i visul se destram? sfârÈ™itul fiind mereu acelaÈ™i:deplângem ceea ce am pierdut.

Mais quand on rêve à de grandes choses, c'est pas simple de n'avoir sous la main que des petites choses.

Only Poe could have dreamed the rest.

You wish you had not come. If there were not so many around, you would reach out your arms, with the prayer on your lips for it all to come back to you. It seems cruel, cruel, to give us such a vision; to let us dream and drift through heaven for six months, and then to take it out of our lives.

One young boy, asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, a fireman or pilot or such, answered: Alive.

sounds that sleeping houses make

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood.

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood.

Burnham's frequent admonition: "Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood." Burnham

Make no little plans, they have no magic to stir ine's blood.

There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, 'Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams.' Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there. These are great dreams, but they never even get out of the box. It takes an uncommon amount of guts to put your dreams on the line, to hold them up and say, 'How good or how bad am I?' That's where courage comes in.

There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, 'Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams.' Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there.

To grow up at all is to conceal the mass of internal scar tissue that throbs in our dreams.

But man is not just a blind glob of idling protoplasm, but a creature with a name who lives in a world of symbols and dreams and not merely matter. His sense of self-worth is constituted symbolically, his cherished narcissism feeds on symbols, on an abstract idea of his own worth, an idea composed of sounds, words, and images, in the air, in the mind, on paper.

Excreting is the curse that threatens madness because it shows man his abject finitude, his physicalness, the likely unreality of his hopes and dreams.

But to live a whole lifetime with the fate of death haunting one's dreams and even the most sun-filled days—that's something else.

we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on.

You ought to dream. All our biggest businessmen have been dreamers.

Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.