Quotes About Dreams

When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial

Dal mio quarto piano sull'infinito, nella plausibile intimità della sera che sopraggiunge, a una finestra che dà sull'inizio delle stelle, i miei sogni si muovono con l'accordo di un ritmo, con una distanza rivolta verso viaggi a paesi ignoti, o ipotetici, o semplicemente impossibili.

Tengo en mí todos los sueños del mundo

Perhaps he still hopes. If there's any justice in the Gods' injustice, then may they let us keep our dreams, even when they're impossible, and may our dreams be happy, even when they're trivial. ... Every dream is the same dream, for they're all dreams. Let the Gods change my dreams, but not my gift for dreaming.

The art of the child is in non-realization.

If there's any justice in the Gods' injustice, then may they let us keep our dreams, even when they're impossible, and may our dreams be happy, even when they're trivial.

I want you only to dream of you,' they tell the beloved woman in verses they never send – they who dare not tell her anything. This 'I want you only to dream of you' is a verse from an old poem of mine. I record the memory with a smile, and don't even comment on the smile.

A melhor maneira de começar a sonhar é mediante livros.

Kiekvienas iš m?s? yra du, ir kai du žmon?s susitinka, suart?ja, susiriša, retai visas ketvertas sutaria. Svajojantis žmogus, esantis kiekviename veikian?iame žmoguje, dažnokai pešasi su veikian?iu žmogumi - tai kaipgi jie nesipeš su veikian?iu žmogumi ir svajojan?iu žmogumi, esan?iais Kitame?

I want you only for my dreams,' they tell the beloved woman in verses they never send – they who dare not tell her anything. This 'I want you only for my dreams' is a verse from an old poem of mine. I record the memory with a smile, and don't even comment on the smile.

To write is to objectify dreams, to create an outer world as a material reward [?] of our nature as creators. To publish is to give this outer world to others; but what for, if the outer world common to us and to them is the 'real' outer world, the one made of visible and tangible matter? What do others have to do with the universe that's in me?

Not even by painting my window with colourful dreams can I block out the noise of the life outside, oblivious to my gazing at it.

I limited and focused my desires to hone and refine them. To reach the infinite – and I believe it can be reached – we need to have a sure port, just one, from which to set out for the Indefinite. Today I'm an ascetic in my religion of myself. A cup of coffee, a cigarette and my dreams can substitute quite well for the universe and its stars, for work, love, and even beauty and glory. I need virtually no stimulants. I have opium enough in my soul.

I have enough money to buy food and drink, I have somewhere to live and enough free time in which to dream, write - and sleep - what more can I ask of the gods or hope for from fate? I had great ambitions and extravagant dreams, but so did the errand boy and the seamstress, for everyone has dreams; the only difference is the whether or not we have the strength to fulfil them or a destiny that will fulfil them through us.

El sueño es la peor de las cocaínas, por ser la más natural de todas.

satisfied with dreams only when I'm not dreaming, satisfied with the world only when I'm dreaming far away from it. A swinging pendulum that goes back and forth, forever moving to arrive nowhere, eternally tethered to the twin fatality of a centre and a useless motion …

Mostrou-me como o sonho não consola, porque a vida dói mais quando se acorda

Pero el que sueña lo posible tiene la posibilidad real de la verdadera desilusión.

It doesn't faze me when my dreams are interrupted; they're so gentle that I keep dreaming them as I speak, write, answer, or even discuss.

What grieves me is that my best is no good, and that another whom I dream of, if he existed, would have done it better.

Não sou nada. Nunca serei nada. Não posso querer ser nada. À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mundo.»

Tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mundo

I'm the suburbs of a non-existent town, the long-winded commentary on a book never written. I'm no one, no one at all. I don't know how to feel, how to think, how to want. I'm a character of an unwritten novel, wafting in the air, dispersed without ever been, among the dreams of someone who didn't know how to complete me

As a man of ideals, perhaps my greatest aspiration really does not go beyond occupying this chair at this table in this café.