And when I wake up it's wonderful, like I've been carried quietly onto a calm, peaceful shore, and the dream, and its meaning, has broken over me like a wave and is ebbing away now, leaving me with a single, solid certainty. I know now.

Acho que o Santo Graal é um sonho que os homens têm, um sonho de que é possível tornar o mundo perfeito. Se ele existisse, todos nós teríamos sabido que o sonho não pode se transformar em realidade.

You say I have no power? Perhaps you speak truly... But — you say that dreams have no power here? Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar... Ask yourselves, all of you... What power would hell have if those imprisoned were not able to dream of heaven?

‎"It always seemed somehow less real here... a really detailed dream, but sort of washed out, like a thin watercolor. Softer, somehow, even with their electric light and engines and everything. I guess it was because there was hardly any magic.

So long as breath remains in our lungs, untapped potential lies inside us, waiting to be released. The reason we are still alive is that we are carrying something inside us that this generation needs. That’s why we’re not yet in heaven.

I had a dream about you. I said, “The sex train leaves in three minutes and lasts for three minutes. Hop on!” You replied, “No thanks. I think I’ll catch a cab.” Well, you did catch a cab, and then you caught syphilis.

He who writes books that aim to convince is a comedian, too, just a comedian. What has he got to offer others, apart from chains, still more chains? Fiction never liberated anyone. No one ever brought anything back from voyages through dream worlds.

Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. [...] When I fully awaken, I'm momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder than ever.

I had a dream about you. The leaves changed from yellow to red, but the stoplights did not. This made me continually cautious, and you kept honking at me. I thought you were the rudest goose ever, so I ran you over. Then the light turned red.


We are the music-makers,And we are the dreamers of dreams,Wandering by lone sea-breakers,And sitting by desolate streams.World-losers and world-forsakers,Upon whom the pale moon gleams;Yet we are the movers and shakers,Of the world forever, it seems.

when you do great things, think as if you missed the mark by an inch; walk as if you are yet to face the greatest task; talk as if you are yet to have the best preparation for the momentous moment and dream as if you are fighting a battalion of tasks

I had a dream about you. Our relationship faded from red to white, and somewhere in the middle, in the pink zone, I told you I loved you and you returned it. However, at white, our relationship went black and I sought red in the arms of another woman.

The journey was a surreal dream. This world was about knowing the person you’d always wanted to be and setting your foot down to it, remembering the person you’d thought you were as a child and rejoicing in its living, breathing actuality.

I had a dream about you. You wanted to make love to me, and I wanted to sell you a talking mannequin that looked like me. You said you didn’t pay for sex, and I said I didn’t sell to just anybody. But we both knew we were both lying.


I celebrate myself, I paint and dance and sing myself, and what I assume you will assume, for every atom as of me as good belongs to dreamy You. I am a song. I am a poem. I am a soil and a gem. I am a stargate and a voyage. I am the ocean and your soul.