Quotes About Dream

It was like living entirely inside a book.

As is well known, when the moon hours lenghten, human beings come adrift from the regularity of their mechanical clocks. They nod at noon, dream in waking hours, open their eyes wide to the pitch-black night. It is a time of magic. And as the borders between night and day stretch to their thinnest, so too do the borders between worlds.

To write is to feel the dance of your soul swirling in a dream that drips imagination onto paper.

Notice that the GOP program—articulated by Douglass and affirmed by black leaders—is none other than the color-blind ideal outlined in Martin Luther King's famous "dream." King envisioned a society in which we are judged by the content of our character, not the color of our skin. This is substantially what Douglass and other black Republicans called for, more than a century earlier.

It is the still, yellow kind of afternoon when one is apt to get stuck in a dream if one sits very quiet

Secrets are an exalted state, almost a dream state. They're a way of arresting motion, stopping the world so we can see ourselves in it.

That night, after the movie, driving my father's car along the country roads, I began to wonder how real the landscape truly was, and how much of a dream is a dream.

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.

The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time. The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of the dead? They are also in the ground, of course, asleep and crumbling. Perhaps we are what they dream. May the days be aimless. Let the seasons drift. Do not advance the action according to a plan.

If they haven't compromised themselves already, in their hearts they want to, because being true to one's art, keeping the dream alive, is utterly exhausting.

YOU ARE AN ARTIST OF THE SPIRIT Find yourself and express yourself in your own particular way. Express your love openly. Life is nothing but a dream, and if you create your life with love, your dream becomes a masterpiece of art.

Don't take anything Personally Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering

What you are seeing and hearing right now is nothing but a dream. You are dreaming right now in this moment. You are dreaming with the brain awake.

The elders constantly reminded Sacred Feathers of the need to make a vision quest -- to obtain, through fasting, a guardian spirit to guide and protect them through life. Animals, birds, and fish could speak with them and, in a dream or vision, give their power.

You have to think anyway, so why not think big?

Financial Advisor: "A Plan for Your Retirement" College Alumni Association: "Leave a Meaningful Legacy" Fine-Dining Restaurant: "A Meal Everybody Will Remember" Real Estate Agent: "The Home You've Dreamed About" Bookstore: "A Story to Get Lost In" Breakfast Bars: "A Healthy Start to Your Day

The catalyst for any story is that the hero wants something.

The idea is that you place a gap between a character and what they want.

Building Your Dream Home: 10 Things to Get Right Before You Build"— A free e-book offered by an architect who wanted to establish herself as a guide to families looking to build a custom home.

As long as you're going to be thinking anyway, think big.

The lamplight was eerie, and, standing there motionless in our bathrobes, sleepy, with shadows flickering all around, I felt as though I had woken from one dream into an even more remote one, some bizarre wartime bomb shelter of the unconscious.

I slept all day, face down in the pillow, a comfortable dead-man's float only remotely disturbed by a chill undertow of reality—talk, footsteps, slamming doors—which threaded fitfully through the dark, blood-warm waters of dream.

We belonged together; there was a dream rightness and magic to it, inarguable; the thought of her flooded every corner of my mind with light and poured brightness into miraculous lofts I hadn't even known were there, vistas that seemed to exist not at all except in relationship to her.

a starry ache that lifted me up above the windswept city like a kite: my head in the rainclouds, my heart in the sky.