Quotes About Dreams

Here is dust remembers it was a rose one time and lay in a woman's hair. Here is dust remembers it was a woman one time and in her hair lay a rose. Oh things one time dust, what else now is it you dream and remember of old days? ? Carl Sandburg, "Dust," The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg . (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; First Edition edition January 6, 2003) Originally published 1950.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

He had ten hopes to your one.

Kid, if you never remember your dreams you lose out on half of your life

It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind.

Keep your dreams, you never know when you might need them.

Conserva tus sueños, nunca sabes cuando te harán falta.

Well, this is a story about books. About books? About accursed books, about a man who wrote them, about a character who broke out of the pages of anovel so that he could burn it, about a betrayal and a lost friendship. It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind. You talk like the jacket blurb of a Victorian novel, Daniel. That's probably because I work in a bookshop and I've seen too many. But this is a true story.

Keep your dreams, you will never know when you need them

She was seventeen, her entire life shining on her lips.

In my schoolboy reveries, we were always two fugitives riding on the spine of a book, eager to escape into worlds of fiction and secondhand dreams.

This place is a mystery. A sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it & the soul of those who read it & lived it & dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down it's pages, it's spirit grows & strengthens. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader's hands, a new spirit...

He lost himself in the words and images conjured in his mind and for a while forgot ... He found himself flying among stars and planets ...

I wondered what on earth she saw in me that could make her want to befriend me, other than a pale reflection of herself, an echo of solitude and loss. In my ..reveries, we were always two fugitives riding on the spine of a book, eager to escape into worlds of fiction and second hand dreams

He was rather clumsy and shy and looked as if he'd spent the last ten years of his life locked up in a library - hardly the kind of man any girl your age dreams of ...

De libros malditos, del hombre que los escribió, de un personaje que se escapó de las páginas de una novela para quemarla, de una traición y de una amistad perdida. Es una historia de amor, de odio y de los sueños que viven en la sombra del viento.

There's nothing here. Nothing at all.' Marina gave me a look that I could not fathom. 'You're wrong,' she said. 'The memories of hundreds of people lie here. Their lives, their feelings, their expectations, their absence, the dreams that never came true for them, the disappointments, the deceptions and the unrequited loves that poisoned their existence... All that is here, trapped for ever.

Cada libro, cada tomo que ves, tiene alma. El alma de quien lo escribió, y el alma de quienes lo leyeron y vivieron y soñaron con él. Cada vez que un libro cambia de manos, cada vez que alguien desliza la mirada por sus páginas, su espíritu crece y se hace fuerte.

He let the hours go by lost in the magic of words, shedding his skin and his name, feeling like another person. He allowed himself to be carried away by the dreams of shadowy characters, the only refuge left for him.

Todo es un cuento... Lo que creemos, lo que conocemos, lo que recordamos e incluso lo que soñamos. Todo es un cuento, una narración, una secuencia de sucesos y personajes que comunican un contenido emocional. Un acto de fe es un acto de aceptación, aceptación de una hitoria que se nos cuenta. Sólo aceptamos como verdadero aquello que puede ser narrado.

You should only become a writer if the possibility of not becoming one would kill you.

Now he understood. He had dreamed about her countless times, on that same staircase, with that same blue dress and that same movement of her ash-grey eyes, without knowing who she was or why she smiled at him.

A veces, las cosas más reales sólo suceden en la imaginación.

Let's shake hands and be friends, but please, I beg you, stop farting like that, because I'm beginning to hallucinate and in my dreams I see Comrade Joseph Stalin doing the Charleston.