Quotes About Dreams

Hey, hör mal zu! Ich habe nicht viel im Leben gelernt. Und dir auch nicht viel beigebracht. Aber eins weiß ich ganz genau: Träume gehen niemals in Erfüllung!

All I wanted was to be big, to be in show business and to travel... and that's what I've been doing all my life.

When you're young and full of invulnerable optimism, dreams are as easy as "Oh, I'll just try that." Everything seems attainable

If only I had feathered wings, that could bend and curve and reach, beyond imagined dreams, unhindered by the weight of earth.

I roamed alone; O, barren dreams. My echoed voice, what lonely comfort. Here is my salvation: I hear the triumph drum; the rhythm of the rising, the long-awaited sun.

These dreams were so real they left me shaken and unsure of which world I was in.

Don't ever stop living for anything. Chase your dreams, and catch them shits!

Sometimes, upon waking, the residual dream can be more appealing that reality, and one is reluctant to give it up. For a while, you feel like a ghost -- Not fully materialized, and unable to manipulate your surroundings. Or else, it is the dream that haunts you. You wait with the promise of the next dream.

At night, lying on your back and staring at the falling snow, it's easy to imagine oneself soaring through the stars.

Cuando tenía doce años quería ser actriz. No he tenido suerte: he sido emperatriz

Only in imagination or dreams do the people we love occupy their proper places

You walk in my dreams, Leafpool

Sometimes the dreams clung to Bea all day, leaving her unsettled and jittery, gloomy. Like today.

Humans looked at the stars and they wished and they dreamed. He looked at the stars and knew they didn't matter. The stars were just chunks of glass in the black sky. No, the stars were meaningless.

What would you like to do tonight?" Go to the moon with you.

small-town girl. When

To imagine the unimaginable is the highest use of the imagination

A writer is dreamed and transfigured into being by spells, wishes, goldfish, silhouettes of trees, boxes of fairy tales dropped in the mud, uncles' and cousins' books, tablets and capsules and powders...and then one day you find yourself leaning here, writing on that round glass table salvaged from the Park View Pharmacy--writing this, an impossibility, a summary of who you came to be where you are now, and where, God knows, is that?

I read in desperate snatches in the interstices of the Quotidian, and dream of finding three uninterrupted quiet hours to think, moon, mentally maunder, and, above all, write. I am pursued by an anti-Muse; her name is Life. Her homely multisyllabic surname is often left unenunciated, but to certain initiates it may be whispered: Exigency.

What we wish for, dream and imagine is the very framework and foundation of everything we create

Happiness is in the imagination. What we perform is always inferior to what we imagine.

I have heard that voice many a time when asleep and, what is strange, I understood more or less an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue: day draws near another one do what you can.

All people dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind, wake in the morning to find that it was vanity. But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people, For they dream their dreams with open eyes, And make them come true.

What's the use of thinking about something which never could happen? It only makes you discontented with what you've got.