There is a place so pure and true beyond your deep and restless thoughts youll find an imaginative longitude for dear shelter completely lost in time... Its made of love of magic dreams where you can be yourself and free... Where roses of white and scarlet bloom...tranquility waves kissing shore... A place youll never want to leave a place for dreamers to believe... So spread the wings and let your soul fly up high and reach your castle in the sky...

Lucien had never prayed before never imagined that there might be a deity listening who would be interested in what he had to say so his supplication skills were a tad rusty.But now Lucien prayed.Please dont take her from me just as Ive found her. If you do Ill come for your ass.Any gods listening would do well to heed him. Lucien never made a promise that he couldnt keep.

What does a lighthouse do I ask myself. It never moves. It cannot hike up its rocky skirt and dash into the ocean to rescue the foundering ship. It cannot calm the waters or clear the shoals. It can only cast light into the darkness. It can only point the way. Yet through one lighthouse you guide many ships. Show this old lighthouse the way.

Please lift your snowy skies off my soul -Your diamond dreams slice through my veins

A love story - your own or anyone elses - is interior hidden. It can never be accurately reported only imagined. It is all dreams and invention. Its guesswork.

Surrender to your dreams and let them launch your tomorrow.

Dreams are a beautiful bride that holds our hands to enter a world more gloriousthan this one.

My reason for being an author Because I love to write - it fulfills me. But the fact that I entertain others by doing it is a lovely bonus.

...

How oddly situated a man is apt to find himself at age thirty-eight His youth belongs to the distant past. Yet the period of memory beginning with the end of youth and extending to the present has left him not a single vivid impression. And therefore he persists in feeling that nothing more than a fragile barrier separates him from his youth. He is forever hearing with the utmost clarity the sounds of this neighboring domain but there is no way to penetrate the barrier.Honda felt that his youth had ended with the death of Kiyoaki Matsugae. At that moment something real within him something that had burned with a vibrant brilliance suddenly ceased to be.Now late at night when Honda grew weary of his legal drafts he would pick up the dream journal that Kiyoaki had left him and turn over its pages....Since then eighteen years had passed. The border between dream and memory had grown indistinct in Hondas mind. Because the words contained in this journal his only souvenir of his friend had been traced there by Kiyoakis own hand it had profound significance for Honda. These dreams left like a handful of gold dust in a winnowing pan were charged with wonder.As time went by the dreams and the reality took on equal worth among Hondas diverse memories. What had actually occurred was in the process of merging with what could have occurred. As reality rapidly gave way to dreams the past seemed very much like the future.When he was young there had been only one reality and the future had seemed to stretch before him swelling with immense possibilities. But as he grew older reality seemed to take many forms and it was the past that seemed refracted into innumerable possibilities. Since each of these was linked with its own reality the line distinguishing dream and reality became all the more obscure. His memories were in constant flux and had taken on the aspect of a dream.