Quotes About Dreams

Nei miei sogni scorrevano fiumi e peccati, occhi sbarrati di volti sommersi. Mi risvegliai nel silenzio e nel gelo, sotto l'occhio accusatore dei riflettori ad arco. La città traboccava di persone in cerca dell'uomo o della donna in grado di salvarle. Puzzavo di sudore freddo, alcol e paura. Il loft mi sembrava sconfinato, un'immagine ripescata dal fondo sabbioso di un sogno.

Isn't it possible that this midcentury moment enters the skin more lastingly than the vast shaping strategies of eminent leaders, generals steely in their sunglasses -- the mapped visions that pierce our dreams?

We can't do justice to our dreams, reworking them in memory. They seem borrowed, part of another life, ours only maybe and only in the farthest margins.

The ceiling angled down right over me and I raised my arm and touched it with my fingertips. All children, I thought, should be permitted to sleep in such a room; the child loves nooks and odd angles and is frightened into nightmare by equidistance, by parallel planes which conceal nothing.

Sleep was out there somewhere over the curve of the earth.

dreams (the waste material of premonitions).

We will follow the bullet trajectories backwards to the lives that occupy the shadows, actual men who moan in their dreams.

Ono što ?ete zatim otkriti 53 nevjerojatno je. Otkrit ?ete da ste sila - sila koja daje život vašemu tijelu, sila koja umu omogu?uje da sanja.

The first task in building a compelling story world is to create hope.

As human beings we perceive rubber handles, popping corks, crème centers, lavender lotion, and autumn leaves as real. But just as solid to us are snotty attitudes, inconvenient lust, spade flushes, political lies, steely beauty, hometown support, big-city zeal, coffee intoxication, bizarre fashion moments, cell-phone lobotomies, road rage, pathetic dreams, and a thousand other things that aren't corporeal. To

but the reality is people want to work for more than just money. They want to work to build and sustain a community they love. As we shared our personal dreams with each other, my work was no longer about me reaching my goals, it was about me contributing to a team in which we'd all tied our dreams together.

If you're shopping for a caterer for an upcoming party, for example, you'll be more likely to do business with a company that breaks down their process into three steps:         1.    Tell us about your event.         2.    Let us create a custom menu.         3.    Host the party of your dreams.

If you want to know what a person's story is about, just ask them what they want.

by helping them imagine what life can look like when they buy your products or services.

Not having a marketing plan cost me millions of dollars, serious international influence, and the chance to accomplish at least some of my dreams. Don't get me wrong. Things have turned out okay, but the only reason things worked out is because I executed this plan.

Think BIG! You are going to be thinking anyway, so think BIG!

America has always been the land of dreams because America is a nation of true believers. When the pilgrims landed at Plymouth they prayed. When the Founders wrote the Declaration of Independence, they invoked our creator four times, because in America we don't worship government, we worship God.

The story of America is the story of an adventure that began with deep faith, big dreams and humble beginnings.

Creative interpretation of reality resulting from wishful thinking

The dead appear to us in dreams because that's the only way they can make us see them; what we see is only a projection, beamed from a great distance, light shining at us from a dead star...

my head in the rainclouds, my heart in the sky.

Or rather, I dreamed of her constantly, only as absence, not presence: a breeze blowing through a just-vacated house, her handwriting on a notepad, the smell of her perfume, streets in strange lost towns where I knew she'd been walking only a moment before but had just vanished, a shadow moving away against a sunstruck wall. Sometimes I spotted her in a crowd, or in a taxicab pulling away, and these glimpses of her I treasured despite the fact that I was never able to catch up with her.

I blinked at her. My shades were down and the hall was dark and to me, half-drugged and reeling, she seemed not at all her bright unattainable self but rather a hazy and ineffably tender apparition, all slender wrists and shadows and disordered hair, the Camilla who resided, dim and lovely, in the gloomy boudoir of my dreams.

There's no 'rational grounds' for anything I care about.