Dreamer Quotes
I was actually pissed off. I wanted to go my entire ECW career without winning titles. The only reason I won titles is because guys left.
The only value of this world lay in its power - at certain times - to suggest another world.
Then I perceived, what I had never thought, that all these staring houses were not alike, but different one from another, because they held different dreams.
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living, I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
Sometimes I think there are only two instructions we need to follow to develop and deepen our spiritual life: slow down and let go.
What if the question is not why I am so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I really am?
There is nowhere to go. What you are looking for is right here. Open the fist clenched in wanting and see what you already hold in your hand
When we surrender when we do not fight with life when it calls upon us we are lifted and the strength to do what needs to be done finds us.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
Not doing is not about immobility or giving up in despair. It is first and foremost about being able to be with, to accept fully, what is in this moment.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
Loudly declaring our soul's desire can get the blood running and our passions blazing.
The reality is that your dreams pave the way for you. You just have to have the guts to follow them.
Now I am a vagabond of the universe, a drifter among spaces where the madness of things has no limits.
There was no echo, no reverberation. If anything the room ate sound. It swallowed her voice, her words, and her eternal, inadequate apology. But not her memories. She would never be rid of those.
You think good people can't hate?" she asked. "You think good people don't kill?"[...}"Good people do all the things bad people do, Lazlo. It's just that when they do them, they call it justice.
Life is a nightmare that leaves its mark upon you in order to prove that it is, in fact, real.
Somewhere along the road many of us have picked up the belief that to change we must suffer. Some things are earned with work. But work is not suffering. Work is just work.
What was he? Storyteller and secretary and doer of odd jobs, neither Tizerkane nor delegate, just someone along for the dream.
Written words, if carefully laid down, represent the civilized ideal of reason.
Look up, greet sparks of fire with salted eyes, For he’s a burning atmospheric sigh:One blaze of liquid flame on midnight sky, Soft orbital decay, and last goodbye.
The years are going by us like huge birds, whom Doom and Destiny and the schemes of God have frightened up out of some old gray marsh.
Marriage without love is just one more twisted form of slavery.
DREAMS are the ones that WAKE you, SHAKE you and make YOU..........................................
There was a man who loved the moon, but whenever he tried to embrace her, she broke into a thousand pieces and left him drenched, with empty arms.
It was cruel. Like opening a birdcage to let the bird fly out, whilst all the while it's tethered by the leg, and freedom is only an illusion.
Every tomorrow is better because you opened your eyes, but still, memories from your past are meant to be shared and cherished
Your American fairytales end that way. Real fairytales end in blood or tears.
He drifted about with his head full of myths, always at least half lost in some otherland of story. Demons and wingsmiths, seraphim and spirits, he love it all.
What's a horizon?' Lazlo asked, straight-faced. 'Is it like the end of an aisle of books?
He read while he walked. He read while he ate. The other librarians suspected he somehow read while he slept, or perhaps didn't sleep at all.
Dreams have a way of persisting. They just don't come true until you DO what you CAN.
It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.
And so I had to turn corners inside-out with my eyes and to read the third side of a book's page, seeking in futility to gaze at what I could then touch with none of my senses.
Even if it was just walls and a roof with papers inside, it had bewitched him, and drawn him in, and given him everything he needed to become himself.
It was a different life out here, but make no mistake: Lazlo was every bit the dreamer he had always been, if not more. He might have left his books, but he carried all his stories with him.
He wasn't an alchemist, or a hero. He was a librarian, and a dreamer. He was a reader, and the unsung expert on a long-lost city no one cared a thing about.