Quotes About Dream

What portion in the world can the artist have, Who has awakened from the common dream, But dissipation and despair?

Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is but a brief, dreamy, kind of delight. O never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

Echo. Into the night. Man. O rocky voice Shall we in that great night rejoice? What do we know but that we face One another in this place? But hush, for I have lost the theme Its joy or night seem but a dream; Up there some hawk or owl has struck Dropping out of sky or rock, A stricken rabbit is crying out And its cry distracts my thought. [...]and set my boyish lips to say, 'Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun

Whisper your dream to a cloud. Ask the cloud to remember it.

O sonho volta para dentro da realidade. A realidade, para dentro do sonho. E... a verdade... para dentro do coração. É o coração que dá forma à pessoa. Quando cada um, voluntariamente, criar a imagem de si mesmo... todos recuperarão sua forma humana.

This "me" of ten years before lay down amid the leaves and long grass and slept for two whole hours. During this time a few ants crawled up my leg, but even in my deep sleep my finger accurately flicked them off. I felt as if I had come to a shore, and the echoing shouts of an old man poling a bamboo raft seemed to reach my ears from far away. I awakened from my dream, and

Still immersed in his dream, he drank down the tepid tea. It tasted bitter. Glory, as anyone knows, is bitter stuff.

Possibly a man who hates the land should dwell on shore forever. Alienation and the long voyages at sea will compel him once again to dream of it, torment him with the absurdity of longing for something that he loathes.

Just now I had a dream. I'll see you again. I know it. Beneath the falls.

I discovered how our hearts, as though infected with some malignant virus, were being eaten away by the uneasy awakening that was brazenly intruding upon our dream, by the futile pleasure of our dream seen at the threshold of consciousness.

When we plot the happiness of another, we unconsciously impute to the other person what is in another form the dream in which our own happiness is fulfilled. Thus by not thinking of our own happiness we make it possible for ourselves to become egotistic.

I dream of a moment when, without my asking, my actions will betray completely this part of me that asks for nothing

Um onnagata é uma criança nascida da união ilícita entre sonho e realidade.

WE NEED TO FALL IN LOVE, PAL—FORGET WOMEN. WHO NEEDS THEM?—DON'T NEVER FORGET YOUR DREAM—GOT A BLACK SCAR ON MY BLUE BLUE HEART . . .

El sueño de alcanzar lo absoluto. Soñar, soñar, pero como este sueño es romántico, no se puede cumplir jamás. La imposibilidad de tal cumplimiento la representa el arte, mientras que su posibilidad la representa la acción. Exactamente esto es el camino conjunto de la pluma y de la espada.

For Ryuji the kiss was death, the very death in love he always dreamed of.

Dreaming was for the moviegoers, fingering their pulpy paper tickets

The second cognitive revolution, dreamed up by techno-humanists, might do the same to us, producing human cogs who communicate and process data far more effectively than ever before, but who can hardly pay attention, dream or doubt. For millions of years we were enhanced chimpanzees. In the future, we may become oversized ants.

The lucid dream, located as it is at a crossroads between worlds and states of consciousness, places the magician in a unique position to influence the delicate balance of consciousness and the interplay it has on matter in the waking state, and is thus an opportunity to test one's ability in the art of adjusting the mutable fabric of Maya.

The reporters merely gaped. Dumb with awe, they trailed Rorke into a bedroom which was a decorator's dream: smooth wallpaper of softest gray, mauve gauze at the windows, a spread of royal purple velvet on a colossal bed, striking slashes of magenta and chartreuse in upholstery and overdrapes.

I first said I wanted to be a writer at the age of seven. It took longer to get that first novel out than I expected.

Today, I went to sleep under a plum tree. There, I dreamed I was a butterfly, flying so pleasently. Then, I fell asleep, and the dream ended. Now- I have to ask myself - am I Zhuang Zi who dreamed of a butterfly? Or am I that butterfly, dreaming I am Zhuang Zi?

I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.

Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.