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dream

“Sometimes, dreaming is in and of itself an act of rebellion.”

— A.G. STRANGER, Share via Whatsapp

“I dreamed I was buying new shoes last night, said Ron. What d ya think that s gonna mean? Probably that you re going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something, said Harry.”

— J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Share via Whatsapp

“That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.”

— Neil Gaiman, The Wake, Share via Whatsapp

“My heart only ever had one thought, one want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all...All my heart has ever wanted is you.”

— Stephanie Laurens, The Edge of Desire, Share via Whatsapp

“Qué es la vida? Un frenesí. ¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión, una sombra, una ficción, y el mayor bien es pequeño: que toda la vida es sueño, y los sueños, sueños son”

— Pedro Calderon de la Barca, La vida es sueño / El alcalde de Zalamea, Share via Whatsapp

“Everyone must dream. We dream to give ourselves hope. To stop dreaming - well, that s like saying you can never change your fate. Isn t that true?”

— Amy Tan, The Hundred Secret Senses, Share via Whatsapp

“It is a happiness to wonder; -- it is a happiness to dream.”

— Edgar Allan Poe, Complete Stories and Poems, Share via Whatsapp

“I tried to concentrate on the angel s voice instead. Bella, please! Bella, listen to me, please, please, please, Bella, please! he begged. Yes, I wanted to say. Anything. But I couldn t find my lips. Carlisle! the angel called, agony in his perfect voice. Bella, Bella, no, oh please, no, no! And the angel was sobbing tearless, broken sobs. The angel shouldn t weep, it was wrong. I tried to find him, to tell him everything was fine, but the water was so deep, it was pressing on me, and I couldn t breathe.”

— Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, Share via Whatsapp

“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 of the very essence of dreams...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream-alone...”

— Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness, Share via Whatsapp

“For Jenn At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don t. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I d watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn t fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. But my lungs remember the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister s heartbeat. And I knew life would tremble like the first tear on a prison guard s hardened cheek, like a prayer on a dying man s lips, like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone… just take me just take me Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday. You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess and hope she knows you can hit a baseball further than any boy in the whole third grade and I ve been running for home through the windpipe of a man who sings while his hands playing washboard with a spoon on a street corner in New Orleans where every boarded up window is still painted with the words We re Coming Back like a promise to the ocean that we will always keep moving towards the music, the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain. Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open. The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks. Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert, then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun. I know a thousand things louder than a soldier s gun. I know the heartbeat of his mother. Don t cover your ears, Love. Don t cover your ears, Life. There is a boy writing poems in Central Park and as he writes he moves and his bones become the bars of Mandela s jail cell stretching apart, and there are men playing chess in the December cold who can t tell if the breath rising from the board is their opponents or their own, and there s a woman on the stairwell of the subway swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn, and I m remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun with strip malls and traffic and vendors and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya ll, I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.”

— Andrea Gibson, Share via Whatsapp

“Dreaming is very pleasant as long as you are not forced to put your dreams into practice.”

— Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes, Share via Whatsapp

“I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.”

— Gaston Bachelard , The Poetics of Space, Share via Whatsapp

“I was the walrus, but now I am John...and so my friends, you ll just have to carry on. The dream is over.”

— John Lennon, Share via Whatsapp

“Please — consider me a dream.”

— Franz Kafka, Share via Whatsapp

“You re a dream. Like everything else.”

— Kelly Creagh, Nevermore, Share via Whatsapp

“I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Share via Whatsapp

“It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the awakening.”

— H.G. Wells, Share via Whatsapp