Dream Quotes - Page 572

Home is where you hange your memories. . . Home is where you begin again to dream again.

To the American people of 1789, their nation promised a new way of life: each individual a free man; each having the right to seek his own happiness; a republican form of government in which the people would be sovereign; and no arbitrary power over people's lives. Less than two hundred years later, almost every aspect of the dream has been lost.

I really wish I could sing so I could front a band, because that would be a dream come true, totally. I want to sing. Can't do it though.

I have the flying dream a lot where I'm jumping off a building and just flying around.

I'm thinking of slowing down on modeling and branching out to other things. I want to pursue some new and old dreams and start making them happen.

Work alone isn't enough for me and mine; we know how to break our backs, but the great dream Of my fathers was to be good at doing nothing.

It's always been a dream for me to play a comic book character.

How rarely boyhood loves to paint in glowing tints his future bright, a picture where no line is faint--whose very clouds are touch'd with light. And girlhood hails a world unknown and reads it in her own glad dreams, as lilies see themselves alone reflected in their azure streams. But rosy clouds that morning brings, ere noon may deepen into thunder--and life's dark stream has sterner things than silver lilies growing under.

It's not the job of this town to make me feel happy. It's not this town´s fault that I don't feel I fit in. It doesn't matter where you are in the world, because it's about where you are in your head. It's about the other world I inhabit. The world of dreams, hope, imagination, and memories. I'm happy up here, and because of that I'm happy up there too

Alone because love was one of those feelings that you could never have control of. And she needed to be in control. She had loved before, had been loved, had tasted what it was to dream, and had felt what it was to dance on air. She had also learned what it was to cruelly land back on the earth with a thud.

That somehow dreams are a blurred line between here and there, like a meeting room in a prison. You’re both in the same room, yet on different sides and really, in different worlds.

This house isn't mine anymore, but the memories are; the memories can't be sold. The building that housed my once-upon-a-time dreams stands for someone else now, as it did for the people before us, and I feel happy to let it go. Happy that I can begin again, anew, though bearing the scars of before. They represent wounds that have healed.

Why do we stop believing in ourselves? Why do we let facts and figures and anything but dreams rule our lives?

I'm sure you've heard people talk about their Heart's Desire—well that's a load of rot. Hearts are idiots. They're big and squishy and full of daft dreams. They flounce off to write poetry and moon at folk who aren't worth the mooning. Bones are the ones that have to make the journey, fight the monster, kneel before whomever is big on kneeling these days. Bones do the work for the heart's grand plans. Bones know what you need. Hearts only know want.

Most of them... most of us never figure it out. Bad dream, they think, or good one. Funny rash, never really goes away, but Doc says it's fine, nothing to worry about. Why dwell on it? But some people, they just can't let it go... Some people drink themselves out of school trying to find it again, trolling through bars where the shadows are so greasy they leave trails on the walls, just to find a way in, a way through. Some people forget too that you're supposed to stop sleeping, you're supposed to have a life in the sun.

Do you think I am a fool, Masha? All this time, and you speak to me as though I were a flighty pinprick of a girl. I am a magician! Did you never think, even once, that I loved lipstick and rouge for more than their color alone? I am a student of their lore, and it is arcane and hermetic beyond the dreams of alchemists. Did you never wonder why I gave you so many pots, so many creams, so much perfume?

Every woman in America has a French dream in her head, especially a Parisian one.

Dreaming is the most powerful thing because no one can take it from you.

Despair is deep. An abyss that swallows dreams. A wall at the world's end. Behind it I await death. Because all our work has come to this.

Where are the leaders?' Sapphique asked. 'In the fortresses,' the swan replied. 'And the poets?' 'Lost in dreams of other worlds.' 'And the craftsmen?' 'Forging machines to challenge the darkness.' 'And the Wise, who made the world?' The swan lowered its black neck sadly. 'Dwindled to crones and sorcerers in towers.

Dream it. Dare it. Do it.

Only a dreamer or a fool would pick a stock at random and expect it to take off like a space ship from its launching pad. Certainly this has happened - about as often as a dime-store clerk has become a Hollywood star or a boy born in a log cabin has been elected President of the United States - just often enough, that is, to keep alive the Great American Dream.

The good is where American dream is alive and kicking. You can be any race, religion, color, creed, sexual orientation - it doesn't matter who you are or where you're from. If you have a talent and you have a passion and you're prepared to work hard, you can be anything you want to be. That's what I like about being in America.

I had a dream about riding a black cat, and then the next day I was at this antique mart, and I found this little devil riding a black cat - an Austrian bronze, tiny little thing. It was super tiny. And it was kind of like, "Oh my God, my dream came true." Except it was a devil, of course. Not me.

For me my big dream that I would like to achieve is for each book to be better than the books that came before, to continue to improve and to become better as a writer and hopefully to have a long career.