I had a dream about you. We were debating the nature of love and you said it was invisible and I said it was the color of gold. You accused me of being a banker and I accosted you for it. Nobody calls me a banker and lives to tell about it.
Dreaming is another form of thinking more concrete more economical more visual and often more emotional than the thoughts of the day but a thinking through of the day nevertheless.
I had dreamed of something so different from what reality was now offering up but that dream had been a blind mans vision. That dream was a miracle. The morning was fading. And I remembered yet again that I was a tourist here.
She entered the story knowing she would emerge from it feeling she had been immersed in the lives of others in plots that stretched back twenty years her body full of sentences and moments as if awaking from sleep with a heaviness caused by unremembered dreams.
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