Quotes About Dreams

But you can't ever live in the place you dream about, the town you long for. ...the moment you become conscious of your desire, and then fulfill it, it evaporates.

I would like to make a film to tell children "it's good to be alive".

But remember this, Japanese boy... airplanes are not tools for war. They are not for making money. Airplanes are beautiful dreams. Engineers turn dreams into reality.

Hold on to that. You have an autograph. I'm going to be famous some day.

to believe in one's dreams is to spend all of one's life asleep.

It's not easy to do the things you dream of doing. Sometimes it's not that easy just to get up in the morning. That's how it is for everyone.

We are encouraged to believe in our dreams, but we are assumed to dream in the same limited palette as everyone else. We are to view ourselves as unique snowflakes only as it facilitates more efficiently melting ourselves into bottled spring water.

over the horizon.

Looking into your dream was like all the stars glimmered their final song to you and when I woke up in darkness once again I could not find a single one in the night sky.

Since the day I met you I dreamt of flying in your eyes.

Strive to infinity, for no thing is impossible. The world is at your feet, and to accomplish your dreams takes nothing but a pocket full of determination and maybe a few coffee's...

And as we round the bend toward Ivy Cottage, he tugs my braid just the way he always has ever since I was six, and then he reaches down and takes my hand. Maybe sometimes dreams really do come true.

Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. —Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

Whenever we reach an unexpected barrier in the way of honoring our souls' truth through action, it is essential to dust ourselves off and keep flying toward our dreams.

In my hefty elf sack, your nightmares now keep. Better think twice before falling asleep - The Nightmare Elf

Lucid dreams often feel like this—as if you are observing yourself from a point over your shoulders-arm flexed, hands curving around the boom, breathing, in three dimensional silence.

When I began to choreograph and find my way pulling other artists' dreams out and changing music in a visual way, there was still a part of me that had something more to say. There was still a desire to rock a stage and ultimately perform the eight count of my dream, but there was a lot of insecurity there.

I've begun to have those stupid dreams. You know the ones where you show up for the final exam and haven't cracked a book all semester?

It was at Long Huruk that we encountered the vortex of the dream time of which we had so far only touched the periphery, for this was the semi-nomadic community of mystics and dream wanderers.

I have dreamt that all my teeth fell out but my tongue lived to tell the tale

I am a hill where poets run. I invented the alphabet after watching the flight of cranes who made letters with their legs. I am a lake upon a plain. I am a word in a tree. I am a hill of poetry. I am a raid on the inarticulate. I have dreamt that all my teeth fell out but my tongue lived to tell the tale. For I am a still of poetry. I am a bank of song. I am a playerpiano in an abandoned casino on a seaside esplanade in a dense fog still playing.

The one who pays attention to the dreams, draws on them, and lives them out is blessed, even as the one who dreams is also dreamt. We each take our turn at living out the dream. Like some ageless wave, Scripture flows through us.

A kind of journal of forgotten, reworked, and remembered holy moments, too awesome to be simply described in everyday conscious language. It is all that remains of the most penetrating incursion of waking into the earth-mother-Jewish-people darkness of what is not the spirit, but only sleep. But the memory is still there, set in our bodies by our parents or our choice. We may ignore the dream or we may appropriate it for ourselves, and so make it our own. It is our choice alone.

But everyone dreams anyway. And we-from Joseph to Daniel to Freud-have had dreams, read them, interpreted them, hidden from them, and even, on occasion, faithfully chanted them from a handwritten parchment scroll. They are an intimate part of our