Quotes About Dreams

All dreams. If there was love or pity for him, it was only in his dreams.

In my dreams, said Ender, I'm never sure whether I'm really me.

Nights were so real that days began to seem dreamlike to him.

It might have been a single day; it might have been a week; from his dreams, it could have been months.

People always go. Always. They always believe they can make a better life than in the old world.

He dreamed, as human beings always dream—random firings of memory and imagination that the unconscious mind tries to put together into coherent stories. Bean rarely paid attention to his own dreams, rarely even remembered that he dreamed at all. But

Science fiction is about what could be but isn't; fantasy is about what couldn't be.

Or in other words, science fiction is about what could be but isn't; fantasy is about what couldn't be.

She is a woman, and so she dreams of freedom, of an hour in which there is no duty waiting to be done. No wonder there is revolution burning in her words, and yet they remain always words and never violence.

Life is a nightmare that prevents one from sleeping.

Nothing should be out of the reach of hope. Life is a hope.

Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams.

The world is made by the singer for the dreamer.

Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known

Pain is the only reward for clinging to impossible dreams. (Harry Braxton)

I was never going to get any sleep. I was going to have Alice in Wonderland conversation after Alice in Wonderland conversation until I died of exhaustion. Here, in the restful, idyllic Victorian era.

Vivimos como soñamos, solos.

This quote is from a Constance O'day Flannery book never fear dying it is simply falling asleep in one world and waking up in another

And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. Like certain ancient frescoes entombed for centuries suddenly exposed to the day.

When your dreams are of some world that never was or of some world that never will be and you are happy again then you will have given up.

His subtle obsession with uniqueness troubled all his dreams.

Rich dreams now which he was loathe to wake from. Things no longer known in the world. The cold drove him forth to mend the fire. Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

The immappable world of our journey. A pass in the mountains. A bloodstained stone. The marks of steel upon it. Names carved in the corrosible lime among stone fishes and ancient shells. Things dimmed and dimming. The dry sea floor. The tools of migrant hunters. The dreams encased upon the blades of them. The peregrine bones of a prophet. The silence. The gradual extinction of rain. The coming of night.

in dreams it is often the case that the greatest extravagances seem bereft of their power to astonish and the most improbable chimeras seem commonplace.