Quotes About Dream

The question was put to him, what hope is and his answer was, The dream of a waking man.

I'm born with a pencil in my hand. I did lots of sketching. I've only wanted paper and beautiful colors. It was my dream, and it still is my dream. And books. They're all I need, and the rest I can do without.

Once upon a time there was a silence that dreamed of becoming a song, and then I found you, and now everything is music.

The dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around

Daughter of my heart,' was the message Brimstone sent just for Karou. She wanted to cry again right here in the court, thinking of it. 'Twice-daughter, my joy. Your dream is my dream, and your name is true. You are all of our hope.

On the occasions that he did look up from the page, he would seem as though he were awakening from a dream.

Which is what one always hopes will happen: for life to take over and be bigger and more marvelous than what we can dream up on our own. Life doesn't need magic to be magical. (But a little bit sure doesn't hurt.)

She asked in a hesitant whisper, "Do you still think i'm a... A singularly unhorrible demon?" "No," he said smiling. "I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And..." His voice grew bashful. Only in a dream could he be so bold and speak such words. "I hope you'll let me be in your story.

There comes a certain point with a hope or a dream, when you either give it up or give up everything else.

How people loved to see a dream shatter, thought Nova from far away. To see the dreamer hobbled and lamed, foundering in the shards of their broken hopes. This is what you get for believing that you could have more. You're no better than us. You're nothing special.

Inside a dream. Within a lost city. In the shadow of an angel. At the brink of calamity.

Because if Lazlo thought a dream could not be stolen, he underestimated Thyon Nero.

What was he? Storyteller and secretary and doer of odd jobs, neither Tizerkane nor delegate, just someone along for the dream.

Her mind was still tiptoeing along the boundary of consciousness, in that state of semi-waking that spins threads between dream and real, and for a moment she felt herself to be a girl who has come down off a porch to confront a great darkness with a tiny light.

The terror-the terror, the terror-lingered, and there was something else. It came with the dream, every time, and didn't recede with it but stayed like something a tide had washed in. Something awful-a rank leviathan corpse left to rot on the shore of her mind. It was remorse. But god, that was too bloodless a word for it,. This feeling the dream left her with, it was knives of panic and horror resting bright atop a red and meaty wound-fester of guilt.

It seemed she was in a cathedral—if, that is, the earth itself were to dream a cathedral into being over thousands of years of water weeping through stone.

In the sheer, shimmering improbability of the moment, it seemed to Lazlo that his dream had tired of waiting and had simply… come to find him. There

the lovers ... dreamed of a world that was like a jewel box without a jewel - a paradise waiting for them ... to fill it with their happiness

Who had ever expended so much passion on a dream, only to stand helpless as it was granted to others? Others, moreover, who had expended no passion on it at all.

And at that moment, for no reason he could put into words, the hourglass shattered. No more, the cool gray sift of days, the diligent waiting for the future to trickle forth. Lazlo's dream was spilled out into the air, the color and storm of it no longer a future to be reached, but a cyclone here and now. He didn't know what, but as surely as one feels the sting of shards when an hourglass tips of a shelf and smashes, he knew that something was happening. Right now.

She keeps her eyes closed but smiles, giving herself away. "Shush, I'm having a dream." "It's not a dream. It's all real." "How would you know? You're not even in it." She feels playful, heavy with happiness. With rightness. "I'm in all of them," he says. "It's where I live now.

Lazlo had loved Sarai as a dream, and he would love her as a ghost as well.

Which is what one always hopes will happen: for life to take over and be bigger and more marvelous than what we can dream up on our own.

How people love to see a dream shatter, thought Nova from far away. To see the dreamer hobbled and lamed, foundering in the shards of their broken hopes. This is what you get for believing that you could have more. You're no better than us. You're nothing special.