Dreams and Imagination

When every inch of the world is known, sleep may be the only wilderness that we have left.

Love is a reality which is born in the fairy region of romance.

That we are not much sicker and much madder than we are is due exclusively to that most blessed and blessing of all natural graces, sleep.

The future is a convenient place for dreams.

There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds.

I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another til I drop.

A person starts dying when they stop dreaming.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

 

Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?

Reality can be beaten with enough imagination.

Now, isn't imagination a precious thing? It peoples the earth with all manner of wonders .

But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigur’d so together, More witnesseth than fancy’s images, And grows to something of great constancy, But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind. 9

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson’s learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

To all, to each, a fair goodnight, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!

Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight ’twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honeydew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

That thus enchains us to permitted ill— We might be otherwise—we might be all We dream of happy, high majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind?

Let the mad poets say whate’er they please Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, As a real woman, lineal indeed From Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed.

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

In dreams begins responsibility. 4