Quotes About Dreams

Nicht in dem Zirkel des natürliches Lebens bewegt sich die Vernunft . Ihr geht um die Einsetzung der Wahrheit in der Welt. Vorgeträumt ist ihr Reich in den echten Märchen , die keine Wundergeschichten sind, sondern die wunderbare Ankunft der Gerechtigkeit meinen.

Soldiers are dreamers.

Burning my dreams away beside the fire: For death has made me wise and bitter and strong; And I am rich in all that I have lost.

Obviously one must hold oneself responsible for the evil impulses of one's dreams. In what other way can one deal with them? Unless the content of the dream rightly understood is inspired by alien spirits, it is part of my own being.

Just because you don't know how on Earth something might be achieved doesn't mean you shouldn't allow yourself to really, really want it. That's the essence of a dream, the realms of magic and of miracles.

On the surface, there is no distinction between our experiences—some are vivid, others opaque; some are pleasant, others cause agony upon recollection—but there is no way of knowing which are dreams and which are reality.

Houses dream they are boats at night.

Make no little plans," he urged. "They have no magic to stir men's blood.

Last night I dreamed I was still human, but now I have woken up, into something better. Farewell, my friends, farewell.

sometimes dreams are all that can keep you going. Give them up, and you're dead.

You have to believe in your dreams because sometimes they believe in you.

You have to believe in dreams, because sometimes they believe in you.

Dreams were invented by Angels to test out their beta programs.

Old Molotov was asked if he dreamed about Stalin: "Not often but sometimes. The circumstances are very unusual. I'm in some sort of destroyed city and I can't find a way out. Afterwards, I meet HIM..."1

Though we may have desires or bold goals, for whatever reason, most of us don't think we can achieve something beyond what we're qualified to achieve. Why, I ask, do we let reality interfere with our dreams?

We had spent only a few weeks together, five years ago, but when you finally meet the person who in daydreams you had sculpted without words, the transparency of time becomes the color of hair, and shapeless years become the shape of lips.

I remember the bed and the crisp, yellowing sheets. I wondered how many people had slept in it. I marveled at how the pillow, like a small theater, had staged countless dreams.

night was like a horse that tore through the forest of memory. As

Her dream was to become an artist—to be loved for moments beyond her own life.

The torment that so many young women know, bound hand and foot by love and motherhood, without having forgotten their former dreams.

But wishes are only granted in fairy tales.

You make me believe in the impossible.

And the wind rose, sweeping before it the months, the seasons, and the dreams and lamentations of men.

A test of what is real is that it is hard and rough. Joys are found in it, not pleasure. What is pleasant belongs to dreams.