Quotes About Dreams

Let me advise you, my dear young friend-- nay, let me warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely.

For it is in the arcana of dreams that existences merge and renew themselves, change and yet keep the same.

The King's Ministers had long treasured a plan to send the enemies of Britain bad dreams. The Foreign Secretary had first proposed it in January 1808 and for over a year Mr Norrell had industriously sent the Emperor Napoleon Buonaparte a bad dream each night, as a result of which nothing had happened.

The man under the hedge, sir. He is a magician. Did you never hear that if you wake a magician before his time, you risk bringing his dreams out of his head into the world?

I am rather of the opinion that in England a gentleman's dreams are his own private concern. I fancy there is a law in that effect and, if there is not, why, Parliament should certainly be made to pass one immediately! It ill becomes another man to invite himself into them.

Hush, sir!" whispered the man, "Your voice. It is too loud. You will wake him up!" "Wake him up? Who?" "The man under the hedge, sir. He is a magician. Did you never hear that if you wake a magician before his time, you risk bringing his dreams out of his head into the world?" "And who knows what horrors he is dreaming of!" agreed another man, in a whisper.

Hollywood is the only place where you can die from encouragement." Dorothy Parker

I want to be the man of your dreams, angel, he said, surprising me. I want that more than anything. I looked back at him. You've got that in the bag already.

I've always seen white picket fences in your eyes when you look at me. I was positive I wasn't that guy. I was wrong. One of these days, when you're ready, I'll give that dream to you. And you're going to give me a gorgeous little girl or two with your dark curly hair and smiles that slay me.

I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night...

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) --from Mad Girl's Love Song: A Villanelle, written 1954

I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.... If I sit still and don't do anything, the world goes on beating like a slack drum, without meaning. We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.

This was the best time of the day, when I could lie in the vague twilight, drifting off to sleep, making up dreams inside my head the way they should go.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, Kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld, A world we lose by merely waking up.

Dream by dream I am educating myself to become that rare character, rarer, in truth, than any member of the Psychoanalytic Institute, a dream connoisseur. Not a dream stopper, a dream explainer, an exploiter of dreams for the crass practical ends of health and happiness, but an unsordid collector of dreams for themselves

I fixed my eyes on the largest cloud, as if, when it passed out of sight, I might have the good luck to pass with it.

It is amusing to wonder whether dreams would matter at all, or freedom or democracy. I think not; I think there would only be the wondering what to eat and where to sleep and how to build out of the wreckage of life and mankind.

Dziewicza strona, bia?a. Pierwsza skalana i odrzucona. Wszystkie te marzenia, obietnice: czekanie, a? b?d? mog?a znowu pisa?, a potem bolesny, sfuszerowany gwa?t na pierwszej kartce.

wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig tree. It

You can outline the people you've lived with these past years in a few sentences ... yet could you give an account of their lives, their hopes, their dreams? You could try, perhaps, but they would be much the same as yours... for you are all an inexplicable unity - this family group with its twisted tensions, unreasoning loves and solidarity and loyalty born and bred in blood. These people are the ones most basically responsible for what you are.

The poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.