And the pebbles fight each other as rocksAnd my father bends among themTwo hands outstretching up to meNot that I can hear.

I have these realistic dreams and snap wide awake in the middle of the night. And for a while I cant work out whats real and what isnt... That kind of feeling. Do you have any idea what Im saying

Dreams are deformed reflections of ourselves - less stable and more ungraspable than we are upon which we in our turn assume the right to reflect upon and to determine.

Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher will So that men sometimes in their dreams confessAn unsuspected or forgotten self -Since Dreaming Madness Passion are akinIn missing each that salutory reinOf reason and the grinding will of man.

Its disquieting to reflect that ones dreams never symbolize ones real wishes but always something Much Worse... If I really wanted to be passionately embraced by Peter I should dream of dentists or gardening. I wonder what unspeakable depths of awfulness can only be expressed by the polite symbol of Peters embraces

Someday is a disease that will take your dreams to the grave with you.

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 have one crystal clear reason apart from the blessed happiness of this way of life. It is this prayer is the core of our day. Take prayer out and the day would collapse would be pithless a straw blown in the wind. But how can you pray--really pray I mean--with one against who you have a grudge or whom you have been discussing critically with another Try it. You will find it cannot be done.

I had a dream about you. We were shoveling dollar bills and used diapers and laughing like children. I was dancing like I had a fog machine in my pants and I did which is my moves were so mysterious.