Dream Quotes - Page 181

All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.

For me, life is about enjoying yourself because you only live once. We should try to make the most of things and follow our dreams.

You are God's dream with skin on

Heine commenting on the music of Louis Hector Berlioz: He is an immense nightingale, a lark as great as an eagle. . . . The music causes me to dream of fabulous empires, filled with fabulous sins.

You really think your life is going to go a certain way sometimes, and then sometimes something amazing happens just out of the sheer generosity and kindness and faith of others and I never anticipated that I would have the chance to make my dreams come true. And you guys have given me that chance. It's about faith and encouragement and I wanna thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me the trust and the belief that you have. And I hope you trust and believe in yourselves as much as you trust and believe in me.

I had dreams, but I didn't have the sense that they would necessarily work out. They seemed very far-fetched.

Everything will be difficult, if there's no dream

Everything we are afraid to try, all our unfulfilled dreams, constitute a limitation on what we are and could become.

Journalism only tells us what men are doing; it is fiction that tells us what they are thinking, and still more what they are feeling. If a new scientific theory finds the soul of a man in his dreams, at least it ought not to leave out his day-dreams. And all fiction is only a diary of day-dreams instead of days. And this profound preoccupation of men's minds with certain things always eventually has an effect even on the external expression of the age.

Always pursue your dreams and work hard at it.

Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.

You've got to dream a little bit if you're going to get somewhere.

I want to tell you about a woman I have been married to for ten years, my wife, Ann, who speaking truthfully, saved me from myself. Who saved me from destroying myself because of my background. Who saved me from wasting my life, drinking my life away, never fulfilling my dreams because of what I had come from, and truly believing and loving - truly the first person to ever truthfully, unconditionally love me.

Death is the most blessed dream.

My dream writing room would be the Imperial Library in Vienna.

In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.

I've never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life.

Alas, how right the ancient saying is: We, who are old, are nothing else but noise And shape. Like mimicries of dreams we go, And have no wits, although we think us wise.

He[Napoleon] had destroyed only one thing: the Jacobin Revolution, the dream of equality, liberty and fraternity, and of the people rising in its majesty to shake off oppression. It was a more powerful myth than his, for after his fall it was this, and not his memory, which inspired the revolutions of the nineteenth century, even in his own country.

The revery alone will do If bees are few.

I don’t understand why we must do things in this world, why we must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn’t it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose everything and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this world?

Not dreams but night changes, not destiny but path changes, always keep your hopes alive, luck may or may not change, but time definitely chages.

You were a summer gift, one I'll always treasure. You were a dream I never wanted to wake up from. You opened my eyes to things I'll never really see. You're the best thing that will ever happen to me.

Our musical alphabet is poor and illogical. Music, which should pulsate with life, needs new means of expression, and science alone can infuse it with youthful vigor. Why, Italian Futurists, have you slavishly reproduced only what is commonplace and boring in the bustle of our daily lives. I dream of instruments obedient to my thought and which with their contribution of a whole new world of unsuspected sounds, will lend themselves to the exigencies of my inner rhythm.

Follow your passion, be prepared to work hard and sacrifice, and, above all, don't let anyone limit your dreams.