I think that the things that are supposed to happen stay inside you...even if they cannot be, they fight to get out of you. Even if the adversities of life keep you imprisoned, making your destiny seem impossible...you still feel it. There has to be a place, somewhere, even in dreams... where the things that are supposed to happen...happen.
Perhaps he still hopes. If there’s any justice in the Gods’ injustice, then may they let us keep our dreams, even when they’re impossible, and may our dreams be happy, even when they’re trivial....Every dream is the same dream, for they’re all dreams. Let the Gods change my dreams, but not my gift for dreaming.
And I couldn't make fun of her for that dream. It was my dream, too. And Indian boys weren't supposed to dream like that. And white girls from small towns weren't supposed to dream big, either.We were supposed to be happy with our limitations. But there was no way Penelope and I were going to sit still. Nope, we both wanted to fly:
Moon In the WindowI wish I could say I was the kind of childwho watched the moon from her window,would turn toward it and wonder.I never wondered. I read. Dark signsthat crawled toward the edge of the page.It took me years to grow a heartfrom paper and glue. All I had was a flashlight, bright as the moon,a white hole blazing beneath the sheets.
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.
A female cop in my dream observes a shuffle, and takes note, but doesn’t fully see the bank robbery I have just committed during the planned distraction. All she sees is a man with a lot of money and draws the wrong conclusion—that I am more handsome now than I was when she didn’t know I had money and she saw me walk in the door.
Even the damned can dream - infact, it's part of their torment. To escape, even for a second or two, to forget reality and drift, only to be yanked back into the waking world like a fish caught on a line... Yes. In some ways that's even worse than to have no relief at all. That second of two, on awakening, when anything still seems possible
Be careful what you water your dreams with. Water them with worry and fear and you will produce weeds that choke the life from your dream. Water them with optimism and solutions and you will cultivate success. Always be on the lookout for ways to turn a problem into an opportunity for success. Always be on the lookout for ways to nurture your dream.
It's strange how people give up on you within weeks of promising that they will always be there..and it's just sad that promises are destined to breakand when you had finally believed in that one promisesomeday you give up on yourself too...and it's not about love, it was never..it is, at times, about barren hopes and a bleak tomorrow...
I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"Dudley and Piers sniggered."I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream.
People forget they have options. And they forget that those things don't really matter. They should concentrate on what they have and not what they don't have. And by the way, wishing and dreaming doesn't mean concentrating on what you don't have, it's positive thinking that encourages hoping and believing, not whinging and moaning.
It's only now that I realize that voicing out your alternative goals isn't really a sound idea. Don't get me wrong here - I'm not saying one mustn't dream for oneself. I'm just saying that one mustn't give it voice, at least until it has been acted upon. If they don't know your dreams, then they can't shoot them down.
Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is the very essence of dreams...
If we did have a child, and he came to you with something like this, would you tell him to take the money, to take the job that didn’t mean anything? Why am I even asking, I know what you’d say. You’d tell him to do the thing he loved, the thing that made him feel more alive. Life’s too short to waste time living it any other way.
I had come from wondrous lands, from landscapes more enchanting than life, but only to myself did I ever mention these lands, and I said nothing about the landscapes which I saw in dreams. My feet stepped like theirs over the floorboards and the flagstones, but my heart was far away, even if it beat close by, false master of an estranged and exiled body.
