Quotes About Dreams

Do trees dream?" "Trees? No . . ." "They do," Bran said with sudden certainty. "They dream tree dreams. I dream of a tree sometimes. A weirwood, like the one in the godswood. It calls to me. The wolf dreams are better. I smell things, and sometimes I can taste the blood.

After the bone-grinding cold of the lands beyond the Wall, the caves were blessedly warm, and when the chill crept out of the rock the singers would light fires to drive it off again. Down here there was no wind, no snow, no ice, no dead things reaching out to grab you, only dreams and rushlight and the kisses of the ravens. And the whisperer in darkness.

They had found two of his uncle's men in the wood, slain, but the corpses had risen in the chill of night. Jon's burnt fingers twitched as he remembered. He still saw the wight in his dreams, dead Othor with the burning blue eyes and the cold black hands,

She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know.

The little shards of sleep that they allowed her turned into razors, slicing at her wits.

Bad dreams never come true. The both of them had been so young, that had sounded almost wise.

Time slept when swords woke.

The wolf dreams are no true dreams. You have your eye closed tight whenever you're awake, but as you drift off it flutters open and your soul seeks its other half. The power is strong in you.' 'I don't want it, I want to be a knight.' 'A knight is what you want. A warg is what you are. You can't change that, Bran, you can't deny it or push it away. You are the winged wolf but you will never fly. (...) Unless you open your eye.

I want to live forever in a land where summer lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the world. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I could fight all day and fuck all night. What men want does not matter.

If I had wings, I would want to fly too,

If I drink enough fire wine, he told himself, perhaps I'll dream of dragons. When he was still a lonely child in the depths of Casterly Rock, he oft rode dragons through the nights, pretending he was some lost Targaryen princeling, or a Valyrian dragonlord soaring high o'er fields and mountains.

I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad." "And why was that?" Luwin peered through his tube. "It was something to do about Jon, I think." The dream had been deeply disturbing, more so than any of the other crow dreams.

Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams.

In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

Luwin mester azt mondja, nincs semmi az álmokban, amit?l félni kellene. – Van – mondta Jojen. – Mi? – A múlt. A jöv?. Az igazság.

cultural icons stand the test of time because they speak to our deeper convictions and ignite our dreams.

Science fiction is more than just our collective dreams for a human race that reaches to the stars. In many ways, the dreams of yesterday are becoming the realities of today and the path for tomorrow.

Where there is no vision, there is no hope.

The gap between ideals and actualities, between dreams and achievements, the gap that can spur strong men to increased exertions, but can break the spirit of others -- this gap is the most conspicuous, continuous land mark in American history. It is conspicuous and continuous not because Americans achieve little, but because they dream grandly. The gap is a standing reproach to Americans; but it marks them off as a special and singularly admirable community among the world's peoples.

Imagination is as good as many voyages - and how much cheaper!

Intellectual despair results in neither weakness nor dreams, but in violence. It is only a matter of knowing how to give vent to one's rage whether one only wants to wander like madmen around prisons, or whether one wants to overturn them.

Intellectual despair results in neither weakness nor dreams, but in violence. It is only a matter of knowing how to give vent to one's rage; whether one only wants to wander like madmen around prisons, or whether one wants to overturn them.

Reality can only be illuminated by a ray of poetry. Everything is sleep around us.

FOREVER. Eighteen years is a long way from forever. He had so much life ahead of him. And it's not as if he died in isolation. The dreams of all of the people who loved him died with him. His parents might learn to cope with his loss, but they will never recover.