Quotes About Dream

It is this prospect, of something freshly imagined, some new possibility of belief, that America holds out to all comers. — Toller

What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.

Like the dandelion clocks, all blown and dispersed on the wind, my life has evaporated into the emptiness of a dream; for which I blame my betrayer, that dubious stranger wearing the mask of a once-loved face.

We know by now that Asiatic femininity in the Western racial imagination has never needed the biological or the natural to achieve a full, sensorial, agile, and vivid presence. Asiatic femininity has always been prosthetic. The dream of the yellow woman subsumes a dream about the inorganic. She is an, if not the, original cyborg.

But then to wake and find it flown, The dream of happiness destroyed, To find myself unloved, alone, What tongue can speak the dreary void? A heart whence warm affections flow, Creator, thou hast given to me, And am I only thus to know How sweet the joys of love would be?

Youth is a dream where I go every night and wake with just this little jumping bunch of arteries     in my hand.

When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles' back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of its own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain.

He slept like a shout.

That's what it means to be out of your mind. To let yourself be carried away by a dream. To give it room, let it grow wild and thick, until it overruns you.

I clap my hands together. (Where do I get the strength, the burst of energy?) To chase away the ghosts. Dispel my fears. Arrange the dream. Maintain a kind of balance

My dad was an editor and a writer, and that's actually what I aspired to be.

To cry was to release all sorts of ugly little pressures and tensions. Like waking out of a long, dark dream to a sun-filled day.

My nightly craft is winged in white, a dragon of night dark sea. Swift born, dream bound and rudderless, her captain and crew are me. We've sailed a hundred sleeping tides where no seaman's ever been And only my white-winged craft and I know the wonders we have seen.

She is so naked and singular She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid. As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off. (For My Lover, Returning To His Wife)

I want to sleep all day and night (i.e., not live but not quite die) …

So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.

Personally I'd give ten thousand bucks to be a psychiatrist and not a writer.

I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.

Next I dream the love is swallowing itself. Next I dream the love is made of glass," — Anne Sexton, from "The Break Away," The Complete Poems . (Mariner Books; First Mariner Books Edition (April 28, 1999) Originally published September 30th 1981.

Yes. It is the witch's life, climbing the primordial climb, a dream within a dream, then sitting here holding a basket of fire.

You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.

She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid. As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Further, I must not dream for when I do I see the table set and a faltering crone at my place, her eyes burnt by cigarettes as she eats betrayal like a slice of meat.

In a dream, you are never eighty.