I'm not a dreamer, and I'm not saying this will initiate any kind of definitive answer or cure to cancer, but I believe in miracles. I have to.
The notion of dream interpretation far antedates the birth of psychoanalysis, and probably served an important function in most, if not all, historical societies. In having lost this function, modern man has also lost the best part of his nature, which he obliviously passes on to the next generation of dreamers.
When I was a child I was a dreamer. I read comic books, and I was the hero of the comic book. I saw movies, and I was the hero in the movie. So every dream I have ever dreamed has come true a thousand times.
Rowing is a sport for dreamers. As long as you put in the work, you can own the dream.
As a youngster I was a great dreamer, reading many books of adventure and walking lonely miles with my head in the clouds.
I loved Judy Garland. I thought she was such a classic beauty. I thought she was so endearing and charming, and I loved her voice. She was such a dreamer, and I think I was, too - and I am.
The dreamer's valuation of a thing lost - not another man's - is the only standard to measure it by, and his grief for it makes it large and great and fine, and is worthy of our reverence in all cases.
Love is the time and space where "I" give myself the right to be extraordinary.
Great dreamers' dreams are never fulfilled, they are always transcended.
The only thing poverty does is grind down your nerve endings to a point that you can work harder and stoop lower than most people are willing to. It chips away a person's dreams to the point that the hopelessness shows through, and the dreamer accepts that hard work and borrowed houses are all this life will ever be.
Remember that life is short and death is long.
Dreamers are mocked as impractical. The truth is they are the most practical, as their innovations lead to progress and a better way of life for all of us.
Dreamers only dream, but creators bring their dreams into reality.
As everyone knows, the ancients before Aristotle did not consider the dream a product of the dreaming mind, but a divine inspiration, and in ancient times the two antagonistic streams, which one finds throughout in the estimates of dream life, were already noticeable. They distinguished between true and valuable dreams, sent to the dreamer to warn him or to foretell the future, and vain, fraudulent, and empty dreams, the object of which was to misguide or lead him to destruction.
Artists are the seeds, brave enough to live and flower before humanity. Our soil is contemplation, our water, its understanding. Whether my petals be beautiful to another, to I and The Maker, they are Unique and yet, only equally as beautiful as any other. Some call that being a Dreamer. I call it, being Belov'ed.
Dreams are a sweet mistake All dreamers must awake On, then, with the dance No backward glance Or my heart will break Never look back.
Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.
And I'm not sure why I'm infatuated with death, My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats... Maybe cause I'm a dreamer, and sleep is the cousin of death, Really stuck in the scheme of wondering when I'mma rest.
I, the dreamer clinging yet to the dream as the patient clings to the last thin unbearable ecstatic instant of agony in order to sharpen the savor of the pain's surcease, waking into the reality, the more than reality, not to the unchanged and unaltered old time but into a time altered to fit the dream which, conjunctive with the dreamer, becomes immolated and apotheosized
World peace can blossom throughout the length and breadth of the world only when the world-peace-dreamers, world-peace-lovers and world-peace-servers desperately, sleeplessly and breathlessly long for the full manifestation of peace here on earth.
Because of Obama ... dreamers who are American in every way except on paper, no longer live under the shadow of deportation.
Don't Fall in Love with a Dreamer
Visionaries and dreamers have always been dusted with a little oddity.
You know a dream is like a river Ever changing as it flows. And a dreamer's just a vessel That must follow where it goes. Trying to learn from what's behind you And never knowing what's in store Makes each day a constant battle Just to stay between the shores.
I walked beside the evening sea And dreamed a dream that could not be; The waves that plunged along the shore Said only: "Dreamer, dream no more!"
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