A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.

My nightly craft is winged in white a dragon of night dark sea.Swift born dream bound and rudderless her captain and crew are me.Weve sailed a hundred sleeping tides where no seamans ever beenAnd only my white-winged craft and I know the wonders we have seen.

But to find out the truth about how dreams die one should never take the word of the dreamer.

Its what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone when they are young knows what their destiny is. At that point in their lives everything is clear and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives. But as time passes a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their destiny... Its a force that appears to be negative but actually shows you how to realize your destiny. It prepares your spirit and you will because there is one great truth on this planet whoever you are or whatever it is that you do when you really want something its because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. Its your mission on earth.

They say no land remains to be discovered no continent is left unexplored. But the whole world is out there waiting just waiting for me. I want to do things-- I want to walk the rain-soaked streets of London and drink mint tea in Casablanca. I want to wander the wastelands of the Gobi desert and see a yak. I think my lifes ambition is to see a yak. I want to bargain for trinkets in an Arab market in some distant dusty land. Theres so much. But most of all I want to do things that will mean something.

If you talk about it its a dream if you envision it its possible but if you schedule it its real.

The worlds greatest achievers have been those who have always stayed focussed on their goals and have been consistent in their efforts.

By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

There wouldnt be a sky full of stars if we were all meant to wish on the same one.

Properly speaking the unconscious is the real psychic its inner nature is just as unknown to us as the reality of the external world and it is just as imperfectly reported to us through the data of consciousness as is the external world through the indications of our sensory organs.