William Wallace: [seeing the spirit of his wife] I'm dreaming. Murron: Yes, you are. And you must wake. William Wallace: [pause] I don't want to wake. I want to stay here with you.
As I explore the wilderness of my own body, I see that I am made of blood and bones, sunlight and water, pesticide residues and redwood humus, the fears and dreams of generations of ancestors, particles of exploded stars.
Before I published anything, I dreamed of publication, but I didn't actually write for it. I imagined that writing for an audience was something for fancier people. I aspired, but mostly I wrote for myself. I wrote because it made me happy.
I have dual citizenship; it just so happens I live in America. I would like to go back to Wales. I'm obsessed with my childhood, and at least three times a week dream I am back there.
God created each of us with different traits and characteristics, but regardless of what they may be, know that He made you perfect and has equipped you with every tool to accomplish your purpose in life. Aim High and Dream Big!
I want to be around people that do things. I don’t want to be around people anymore that judge or talk about what people do. I want to be around people that dream and support and do things.
Somehow, I had the feeling that I was responsible for Harry being dead. I remembered all the times that I wished he were dead, all the times I had dreamed of killing him. I got to thinking that maybe my wishing had finally killed him.
Somewhere along the way, Capitalism reduced the idea of justice to mean just "human rights," and the idea of dreaming of equality became blasphemous. We are not fighting to tinker with reforming a system that needs to be replaced.
The sane genius transforms everything that might disturb us, "the wildest dreams," into something that is familiar and reassuring. It is his artfulness that makes us feel at home; it is the weak writer who makes us feel estranged, or baffled, or lost...
Of course there are people who think of 'heaven' as a kind of pie-in-the-sky dream of an afterlife to make the thought of dying less awful. No doubt that's a problem as old as the human race.
We are the music makers, We are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams World-losers and world-forsakers. On whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever, it seems.
Two seeds destined to grow in concert, planted together in the field of love.’” She took in a lungful of air and continued. “‘The sky cast wet buckets of dreams and desires, the roots took shape, and the leaves tangled as one.
Her endless, futile attempts to make her feelings known fell on stony ground. Slowly she retreated into the darkness where her dreams became reality and reality faded into the deep recesses of her soul....
When I was a kid, my first dream was to play Test matches, and the second one was to play 100 Test matches because there are very few people who have played 100 Tests for India.
And yet not a dream, but a mighty reality- a glimpse of the higher life, the broader possibilities of humanity, which is granted to the man who, amid the rush and roar of living, pauses four short years to learn what living means
Most people, probably, are in doubt about certain matters ascribed to their past. They may have seen them, may have said them, done them, or they may only have dreamed or imagined they did so.
Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction
A lost but happy dream may shed its light upon our waking hours, and the whole day may be infected with the gloom of a dreary or sorrowful one; yet of neither may we be able to recover a trace.
Children are more than we think they are; they can do more than we think they can do. All they need is a vote of confidence from grownups, whom they will ultimately replace anyway. Their dream today will become the realities of tomorrow.
The West has become the world model; developing countries are dreaming of living like us, which is impossible. They should reject our model, because it is not sustainable. Developing countries should even give us the example, but unfortunately that's...
She came out of sleep like a thunderclap—waking from dreams so deep and dark that she couldn’t remember anything but dirt and hands pulling her down into graves with cities inside them.
