A dream isnt worth living if you dont have friends to live it with.

. . . and I dont expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. Were not one soul one being however much we love each other.

If the Devil says you cannot pray when you are angry tell him it is none of his business and pray until that species of insanity is dispelled and serenity is restored to the mind. p. 175

I had a dream about you. We drank coffee and laughed like old friends even though we were strangers bathing in the Brown River of Wakefulness. I laughed because you were naked and you laughed because Id just overpaid for a cup of coffee at Starbucks which the natives called Oompow which I would translate for you but its devastatingly embarrassing.

And eventually in that house where everyone even the fugitive hiding in the cellar from his faceless enemies finds his tongue cleaving dryly to the roof of his mouth where even the sons of the house have to go into the cornfield with the rickshaw boy to joke about whores and compare the length of their members and whisper furtively about dreams of being film directors Hanifs dream which horrifies his dream-invading mother who believes the cinema to be an extension of the brothel business where life has been transmuted into grotesquery by the irruption into it of history eventually in the murkiness of the underworld he cannot help himself he finds his eyes straying upwards up along delicate sandals and baggy pajamas and past loose kurta and above the dupatta the cloth of modesty until eyes meet eyes and then

I had a dream about you. I asked you to dance and you said you already had a partner. That was when I noticed you were embracing a mannequin and I felt my face get flushed and I felt flustered. Its embarrassing when a mannequin is a better dancer than you but at least I was more agile than my grandpa who was making a fool of himself in the bathroom as he tried to tango with a urinal.

I had a dream about you. You were a florist and I was a floorist. You thought you were more romantic than me but I knew all the barefoot women in the Nicholas Sparks fan club would disagree.

Dreaming is the poetry of Life and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.

The only thing standing between you and your dreams is ... reluctance.

We can imagine the books wed like to read even if they have not yet been written and we can imagine libraries full of books we would like to possess even if they are well beyond our reach because we enjoy dreaming up a library that reflects every one of our interests and every one of our foibles--a library that in its variety and complexity fully reflects the reader we are.