Sometimes i only sleep to wake up

Fais de ta vie un rve et dun rve une ralit.

... I grew up out of that strange dreamy childhood of mine and went into the world of reality. I met with experiences that bruised my spirit - but they never harmed my ideal world. That was always mine to retreat into at will. I learned that that world and the real world clashed hopelessly and irreconcilably and I learned to keep them apart so that the former might remain for me unspoiled. I learned to meet other people on their own ground since there seemed to be no meeting place on mine. I learned to hide the thoughts and dreams and fancies that had no place in the strife and clash of the market place. I found that it was useless to look for kindred souls in the multitude one might stumble on such here and there but as a rule it seemed to me that the majority of people lived for the things of time and sense alone and could not understand my other life. So I piped and danced to other peoples piping - and held fast to my own soul as best I could.

Only a few of us believe in reality of dreams and actuality of love but we all devote ourselves to that uncertainty and hesitation.

Interestingly this speech by Prospero does not contrast the unreality of the stage with the solid flesh-and-blood existence of real men and women. On the contrary it seizes on the flimsiness of dramatic characters as a metaphor for the fleeting fantasy-ridden quality of actual human lives. It is we who are made of dreams not just such figments of Shakespeares imagination as Ariel and Caliban. The cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces of this earth are mere stage scenery after all.

By perceiving the end of those illusive ideas and statuses as real see yourself as though you have already accomplished what you have had a revelation to do. Then go make it happen.

A fresh dream-fresh happiness A fresh rush of delicate voluptuous poison What is real life to him To his corrupted eyes we live you and I Nastenka so torpidly slowly insipidly in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate so exhausted by our life And truly see how at first sight everything is cold morose as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it Look at these magic phantasms which so enchantingly so whimsically so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic animated picture in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself our dreamer in his precious person.

Though we may choose to view them symbolically dreams are actually no more or less symbolic than everyday waking reality. When the images and events dont conform to our view of reality we call them symbols. When they do we call them facts.

The belief that myths are somehow less true than the symbolic dream we call reality may be the greatest myth of all.

I might be a very weird lover having you the center of my dreams and reality.